


Sympathy for the Devil

by Mythmaker



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire: The Masquerade, BEST FRIEND EVER PHICHIT CHULANONT, Because Some Things Are Grossly Inconvenient and I'm A Lazy Sumbitch, Blood, Crack Treated Seriously, Definitely Gonna Be Sum Dat Smut, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'll Add More Tags When I'm Less Embarrassed, I'm going to the special hell, M/M, More Blood Probably, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Noob Vampire Katsuki Yuuri, Not A Real Toreador, Phichit Chulanont is a Little Shit, Seriously Treated Crack, Smut AND Blood, Toreador!Katsuki Yuuri, Vampire Katsuki Yuuri, Wingman Phichit Chulanont, You'll Have To Look That Up, in a good way, with tweaks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-10-19 12:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10639833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythmaker/pseuds/Mythmaker
Summary: “…Are you telling me, that becoming a creature of the night has cured my anxiety?” he hissed, glaring at the wall so he wouldn’t glare at Phichit. For a brief moment, he thought he saw a flash of red reflect off nearby surfaces.His friend actually had the gall to start laughing, and it sounded a tad hysterical.--Yuuri Katsuki lost his dog, lost his ability to place higher than 6th at the Sochi Grand Prix final, and lost his pride when Viktor Nikiforov didn't know who he was. After the night of the banquet, he also loses something else. Something kind of important.Something like his mortality.





	1. In Which Yuuri Katsuki Has a No Good, Horrible, Very Bad Week

**Author's Note:**

> Um.
> 
> So this happened.
> 
> I'm...I'm sorry?? Feel free to blame Vampire: The Masquerade for this one.

Waking up with a hangover was honestly the kindest thing that was happening to him right now.

Remembering little about the night before last, besides the soul-crushing failure that now defined his career, was almost a blessing. But he still ached all over, as if he had been frozen solid and was only just now thawing. Overall, Yuuri Katsuki was not in a good place.

Even his retinas hurt, he thought, trying to reach for his glasses before he saw the clock.

Groaning softly into the mattress, he instead flung himself off the bed as fast as his stiff limbs would carry him. He could wallow properly later, after he got on the plane. Inconveniencing Celestino now would be insult to injury.

It wasn’t until the shower that he hissed in pain. It was worse than the permeating dull ache that made every movement twice as difficult. He reached up to his neck and felt two small…wounds? He pulled his hand away and spotted the fading, watery remnants of blood. It took a moment for his eyes to widen, and another before he stepped out of the shower to examine himself in the mirror.

There weren’t just two holes. It was as if someone had bitten into his neck. The two holes were just the deepest ones. Yuuri felt panic begin to bubble up in his lungs, taking over important breathing space. There were bruises on his arms, not from his tumbles on the ice, but they seemed to be fading relatively fast. Overall, he looked a lot paler than usual, but he figured that was – hopefully – the hangover, and not…something else.

What had happened to him?

 

\--

 

Hospitals in a foreign country were intimidating to normal folks. Yuuri was absolutely terrified of even making the attempt, so he had given in only to seeing the nurse on staff at the hotel. Early enough to get in a quick bandage, he thought, before he left back for Detroit.

The lady was all business, brusque and had little time for Yuuri’s stammering, but she paused when he revealed the wound. A small murmur in Russian left her lips before she spoke in English. “Mr. Katsuki, do you know what bit you?”

“N – no,” he said, as if hearing her words sealed some kind of binding resolution on his circumstances. “It _does_ look like a bite,” he trailed off, dazed at the thought.

“Was anyone with you when you arrived at your room last night?”

Yuuri was a little surprised by the sudden seriousness of the woman’s tone. “I … I don’t remember. I was,” and here he winced. “I was drinking a lot, I think. My coach probably brought me back.”

“ _Probably_ ,” the nurse tsked, but she didn’t seem angry with him. “I see.” She began to clean the wound, and Yuuri felt so numb, he hardly noticed the sting of disinfectant. “I’ll take care of this. Do you need me to call the police?”

“The police?” Yuuri echoed uselessly. “Why?”

The nurse’s eyes grew soft. “Because someone has assaulted you, Mr. Katsuki. Are you at all hurt anywhere else? Or is it just your neck?”

Moments passed before Yuuri could answer, his voice a whisper. “Uh. No. Just…my neck.”

She seemed relieved. “Alright.” Letting him absorb the situation, she said nothing for several minutes. Tape wrapped around his neck gently before she inquired, “Should I still call the police?”

“No,” Yuuri’s words felt hollow. “Nothing was stolen, and I – I’m okay.” He wasn’t okay.

“I’d recommend getting tested as soon as you can. I don’t have the equipment to do that here,” reminded him gently. All Yuuri could do was nod.

In the end, he promised the nurse he would get his bloodwork done in Detroit. Skirting around the idea that he was a victim of some nameless person’s assault, because right now that would probably render him catatonic, Yuuri instead bundled himself up in all the jackets and scarves he could manage. A new face-mask was purchased. He felt better with all the clothing armoring him against recognition. He also really, really didn’t want to try and explain his injury, what with how Celestino reacted whenever any of his students were in physical or mental distress.

The man had genuinely tried to cheer Yuuri on, and he wouldn’t be here without him; Yuuri felt his gut clench with guilt. Yet another person he had failed.

“I – wow, Yuuri, you sure you have enough layers?” Celestino chuckled, though there was a wariness in his eyes. He was trying to normalize the disaster Yuuri had put himself through the night before, surely.

Yuuri made himself speak. “Just woke up cold is all,” he managed to push through, the words sounding muffled. Everything he said or did felt … disjointed. As if he wasn’t the one actually doing things; like he was watching someone puppeteer his body. He’d felt like this before, briefly, but it hadn’t happened in a very long time. And now it wasn’t stopping.

Absently, Yuuri felt hungry. He’d tried to have breakfast earlier, but it hadn’t agreed with him at all. No gross vomiting, but it had been a near thing.

Maybe he was in shock.

Truthfully, he was feeling better than he did this morning. Physically at least.

Sluggish, he shrugged off Celestino’s promise of talking over his plans when they got back to Detroit. He already had an idea of what to do, and it mostly revolved around, at the very least, taking a break. At the most, it meant retiring altogether – though a part of him absolutely burned at the thought. The rest of him was insisting he shouldn’t try, and had been insisting since he started training professionally. He was used to negative thoughts, but after this failure it was harder to ignore them.

The plane ride was easier to handle. He felt so tired, not even the consistent noise of the engines and occasional baby crying could keep him from sleeping.

Arriving in Detroit, Yuuri awoke to so much more noise it made his head hurt. Everything was too bright, too busy. Considering he’d never had a hangover this bad, he figured he was just paying his karmic dues.

The hollow feeling in him grew the more he thought about his future. He tried to eat something again after parting ways with Celestino (though not without a few queries as to how he was feeling (like crap) and if he’d be alright (unlikely)), but his stomach roiled in protest, all while screaming for nourishment.

Had he slipped a bit into Hell, or something? Yuuri felt the unusual sensation of irritation poke through his malaise. He might have deserved to feel terrible after his dismal performance, but this nausea thing was pushing it.

Phichit greeted him without words, merely hugging Yuuri tight until he had to admit he was having trouble breathing, whereupon he was released. His friend’s face echoed his sorrow, especially when he haltingly relayed the news about Vicchan. And then they both teared up, which at least made Yuuri remember to feel something again. Anything was better than that horrible dead sensation.

“I think something’s wrong with me,” he muttered at what was the designated kitchen table. Phichit had taken it upon himself to cook dinner tonight, and had practically swaddled Yuuri in blankets. For some reason, the sensory deprivation helped. He felt a bit less like a human statue.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Phichit insisted, quite seriously. Then in a completely different tone, turned toward him and grinned. “Especially not after you eat the panang I’m making. My signature dish, Yuuri. Just for you. Because food is best medicine.”

“I haven’t been able to eat anything all …er, day. Yesterday? What time zone even is this.”

“You look a bit hungover – you didn’t get drunk at the banquet, did you?”

Misery, thy name is Yuuri Katsuki. “Probably.”

He figured he should tell Phichit what happened after that, but he was a little afraid of how Phichit would react. The younger man had appointed himself his official guardian (which was embarrassing…he was the older of the two), and if he knew the truth …. Well, he couldn’t assume too much. Phichit could be scary when he was protective.

“Oh no,” Phichit murmured, though he was obviously concealing a smile. “You and alcohol don’t mix too well.”

“We mix fine,” Yuuri mumbled, face now planted into the table. He had stopped wearing his glasses for the time being, as they made his eyes hurt. Everything was too sharp when he put them on, and it only made his illness worse. “I just think I had too much. I can’t remember anything after the seventh flute of champagne. I assume Celestino felt bad and just took me back to my room.”

At least he hadn’t embarrassed himself.

His friend just grinned cheekily. “That’s not too bad! I remember back in the day,” and here Phichit wiped an imaginary tear from his cheek. “Young Yuuri Katsuki couldn’t handle more than a wine glass before making bold declarations of love and war.”

“Shut up,” Yuuri said without any heat, actually fighting off a smile.

“‘I am Yuuri Katsuki YOU BETTER REMEMBER MY NAME— ’”

“Oh my god shut up.”

“I’m only quoting you!”

Unfortunately, even the most amazing smelling panang curry couldn’t cure this strange apathy toward food. He tried to get a few bites in, but ended up just staring mournfully at his dish and apologizing profusely to Phichit, who was gracious and concerned.

“Maybe you should go to the doctor?”

Uncomfortably reminded that he needed to get tested, Yuuri let dread in the door for a few seconds before trying to kick it back out again. To no avail, per usual. “…Yeah maybe. At least I can drink still,” he stared at his glass, more or less glad to be feeling things again, even if what he was feeling was wretched.

There was a beat of silence before Yuuri sighed deeply and started to un-bundle himself; first the blanket, then the jacket, then the scarf – at which point Phichit yelped.

“What happened to you?!” his friend exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

“I feel a lot better than this, er, last morning,” Yuuri tried to remain nonchalant, but this was admittedly something he’d never been able to pull off well, even in the best of circumstances. “I’m okay.” He paused fingers drifting over the gauze that had been taped to his neck, and Phichit held his gaze, both of them radiating worry.

“… I think I was bitten?” Yuuri caved at last, the words a squeak. This was the first time he’d said the truth out loud and that alone was making him freak.

Phichit did not help. “BITTEN?”

“Shhh yes, not so loud,” Yuuri winced, embarrassed but also that word had throbbed in his ears. “That’s what the nurse said. I told her I’d get tested here.”

“Are you kidding me.” Phichit had gripped his shoulders. “No – we’re going right now.” He was already shuffling Yuuri’s coat back onto his shoulders for him. “I cannot believe you!”

Yuuri flushed with shame, and Phichit noticed immediately. “Oh – no no, I just meant you shouldn’t have waited! Didn’t you tell Celestino?”

“No,” his tone was subdued. “I already messed up enough, I didn’t want him to worry.”

A sigh. “You’re an amazing, wonderful idiot,” Phichit muttered as he re-bundled his friend and roommate. “This happened when you were blackout drunk?”

“Had to have,” Yuuri mumbled into the facemask. “Nothing else though. Nothing got taken from my room or anything, so I … I honestly don’t even know.” He gripped the ends of his sleeves with his fingers. “My head’s just killing me, and I’m so hungry.”

“No more twenty questions, I got it. I’m just glad you’re… I’m just glad it’s just this. But still, you should have told me right when you touched down,” Phichit lectured, though his voice wobbled slightly. “Then we wouldn’t have had to do this at night.”

Yuuri was never more grateful for Phichit Chulanont.

 

\--

 

On one hand, getting a clean bill of health was a relief.

On the other, Yuuri would really have loved to eat something. Anything. The last few days of classes had been missed, Phichit running back and forth between his classes and Yuuri’s, getting notes and making sure that everyone knew that Yuuri Katsuki was Very Ill But He Was Studying and Would Take Tests When He Could Thank You. He even fended off a concerned Celestino for him, which was a blessing in itself.

Yuuri was starting to feel delirious from lack of nutrition. He could get bits down after attempted effort, and frankly the meat he was eating started to border on raw, but it was the only thing that barely hit the spot. He was weak and tired, and he was starting to sleep during the day. Not the most convenient of problems to have.

Phichit had kept him hydrated and as fed as possible. Yuuri had used the word ‘sorry’ five thousand times in the last 72 hours. His friend had simply patted him on the head and told him not to worry about it. They had assumed Plane Flu to be his problem; it had never lasted this long before, but then, he had never been sick, bitten, grieving, and hungover all at once. There was no basis for comparison.

It was on the fifth day of his inexplicable wasting disease that he woke, dazed, at three in the morning. Phichit was asleep. Not wishing to bother his roommate any more than he already had, Yuuri dragged himself from his bed to get some water. His appetite for even something as basic as H2O was beginning to fade, and Yuuri was starting to think he needed to go back to the doctor. Or a hospital. This couldn’t be any good for him – he hadn’t had much in the way of nutrients at all.

Reflecting back at him from the mirror in the bathroom was some ungodly specter. He was pale and drawn, obviously unwell. His eyes seemed brighter against his sallow skin, but he wondered if it was because he had a fever. Shuddering, he winced. There was a weird ringing noise, tinny in his ear. It was making him so agitated, he left after splashing some water on his face, rubbing his temples.

There were squeaks from Phichit’s side of the room.

The sound stopped Yuuri in his tracks. He turned his head to stare at the small hamsters in their cage, two of which were asleep. One was attempting to run in its wheel.

His hand reached in and grabbed it so swiftly he actually managed to look surprised instead of hungry for a moment. The small creature squealed in protest, wriggling madly in his grip as he raised it to his open mouth. A small twitch of his hand made the animal scream.

“ _Yuuri!_ ”

There wasn’t any movement. One would have mistaken Yuuri for having ignored Phichit’s horrified gasp, except he’d given pause.

“…Y-Yuuri?” Phichit tried again, and there was an edge to his voice. “Put my hamster down.”

Still nothing for a few beats. Then he raised his head. In the dark, though Yuuri wouldn’t have been able to tell, his eyes were a bright glowing red. As if permanently set to slow-motion did as he was requested with a groan. “I’m _so hungry_.”

Phichit stared, his own eyes so wide they took up half his face in shock. Fear didn’t even hit him, truly – because this was obviously still Yuuri, except that it really, really wasn’t. “You can’t... you can’t eat my hamsters,” he cracked and wobbled to say those words.

“Mn…yeah,” Yuuri agreed, his voice muffled and sulky. He seemed to contemplate for a moment, and then –

It wasn’t to say he teleported. But he moved so fast Phichit had been mid-blink when he did so, and yelped when his arm was grabbed. The hold on him was so strong, the younger boy feared if he tried to wriggle free he’d get it snapped off for his trouble. “Let _go_ Yuuri,” he hissed, pushing at his roommate to no avail, foregoing niceties because obviously so many things were wrong right now.

“But I’m hungry,” was all Yuuri said, as if he was puzzled by Phichit’s reluctance. “Please, _please_ ,” his face was crumpling – for an iota of a second resembling his normal, skittish self. He nuzzled the wrist of his friend like it was some kind of precious treat. “I just need a bit, you won’t even notice,” he purred.

Phichit’s strangled yell was all that accompanied the sudden vicious sight of gleaming fangs and the sharp pain that ran up his arm and straight down his spine. He tried to pull free on instinct, but…. It was strange. The pain was starting to dissipate, morphing into…oh…wow.

He felt faint. Heat spread through him at an intoxicating rate, like a shot of hard liquor. His veins told him there was still pain emanating from his wrist, but his whole body thrummed with pleasure. It was such an unexpected, alien sensation; he felt his breath stolen by it.

There were small squeaking noises; the hamsters. His hamsters.

Reality rushed back so fast it gave him whiplash.

**_SMACK_ **

The effect of Phichit’s blow was immediate. The threatening grip on his arm released, and Yuuri’s bite relinquished with a gasp.

“WHAT THE HELL YUURI?!”

Whatever had blocked out common sense from Yuuri’s mind earlier seemed to fade. The red in his eyes dimmed, just slightly. He didn’t seem hurt by Phichit’s whack to the face, but obviously it had snapped him out of his stupor. Not enough to notice the blood that wasn’t his dripping down his chin. “….Phichit? What – oh – your wrist!”

Never mind the fact that he wasn’t wearing glasses and it was pitch black in the room. Apparently, that didn’t seem to impede his ability to see his friend was bleeding from between the fingers that held tight against his wrist.

Phichit moved away from Yuuri when he reached out. “Nuh uh! No way – you’re not doing that again!” Weirdly, Yuuri could hear the rapid heartbeat without issue. He could see the bright red flush that darkened his friend’s skin.

Yuuri’s eyes, expressive as always, widened, then dropped to the wound – then back to Phichit’s face. Up, then down. Then up.

It took him several moments to realize he had wounded his best friend. Yuuri gripped the sides of his head, panic beginning to encourage the terror he was sure was painted all over his face. “N-no…what? I didn’t – I didn’t mean to – I – what – ”

“Yuuri!” As shaky as Phichit sounded, his voice managed to be firm. “…I … I need a bandage.”

“Ah! Y – yes I’m sorry – I – ” Yuuri swallowed. The sweet metallic after-flavor made his mouth water, but he refocused quickly. “Hang on!”

Whatever energy had been sapped from him for the last week had been returned _fast_. It took no time at all to bestow his friend with all the first aid material they had on hand. At first, Phichit wouldn’t let him get near, but as the uncomfortable silence stretched, and small hisses of pain grew too loud for Yuuri to stand, he moved closer again.

Phichit flinched away and Yuuri felt a horrible guilt punch him in the gut. “I – I’m okay now,” he muttered, shamed so utterly he was surprised he could talk. “I won’t… I won’t do anything. I just want to help.” His head bowed, unable to look his friend in the face.

After a moment, he heard a sigh. “I know you’re still you – but damn, you scared the shit out of me,” Phichit usually didn’t curse too much, except when more or less inebriated. Shaken might have been an understatement. “You _bit_ me. You – I don’t even know what you did to me.” Those last words were as embarrassed as Yuuri had ever heard Phichit in all their time together.

“What do you mean?”

Phichit glared at him through the darkness, face dark with embarrassment. “I am _not_ explaining anything to you yet, jerk.” But he held out his arm. “Just get this on me.”

This time, the silence was far less tense. “Have I gone insane?” came Yuuri’s muttering, vehement and still very mortified with himself as he cleaned the wound he’d given his best friend. It still felt like he’d been dreaming. “How – how could I do this to you? What _happened_?”

“Well,” Phichit quietly pondered to himself. His heartbeat had slowed considerably. “I don’t know about you, but this seems kinda familiar, doesn’t it?”

“How could any of this be _familiar_?” the Japanese boy grumbled.

“You were bitten in some mysterious incident, and now you crave blood. Ring any supernatural bells for you?” Phichit’s sarcasm was well-warranted if not completely deserved.

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “What? No,” he trailed off, taping the last of the gauze down. Phichit hurriedly took back his arm. Yuuri pretended not to feel like he’d been stabbed. “That’s not possible.” The words came out like a sad laugh.

Phichit gave him a deadpan stare, then waved his now bandaged arm around. “ _You sure it isn’t_? You were gonna munch on my hamster!”

Yuuri curled into a ball and groaned. “This can’t be happening. No way that this is…” he didn’t say the words.  Couldn’t.

“Look…let’s think about this. You can see me clearly, can’t you? That’s why you haven’t been wearing your glasses anymore. And its pitch black, yet you can see me in the dark?” After each question, Yuuri realized he was nodding into his arms. “And you … well you seem a lot better than last night. I wouldn’t say healthy, but you’re not falling asleep mid-conversation. This is the most animated I’ve seen you since you left for Sochi.”

“And,” he continued, annoyance in his voice. “More importantly, _you tried to eat my hamster_.”

“I’m _sorry_ , Phichit!” keened Yuuri, his face an obvious picture of regret and guilt.   
  
“And _me_ ,” Phichit added, but this time there was a hesitant smirk on his face. “Also, um, your eyes were glowing.” He said this bit so quickly that Yuuri almost missed it.

“Glowing?!”

“Bright red yeah. They still are kinda low-key bright, but,” the Thai boy affirmed and trailed off, sounding a bit reluctant. “You really did scare me.”

They were quiet together momentarily. The frantic skittering of Phichit’s pets had died down, and now only the soft whir of the heater remained. Yuuri, oddly, didn’t feel the need to breathe much, his entire body calmer than he expected, despite the thoughts that sped through his brain at light speed.

“I am sorry,” he murmured, the truth of this strangeness finally settling into his skin. “I – I don’t know what to do now.” Running a hand through his hair, he grimaced when he realized that blood was still on his lips. “Ugh…I should clean up.”

Phichit was contemplative. “Well, you’re about three inches from finals. You need to eat to get there. And you have the Japanese National Championships in less than a few weeks. Celestino might have given you leeway but now that you’re better you have to practice.”

Yuuri’s whole body twitched slightly. There was something so far away about all of that, compared to what was happening right now. “W-what about you? Your wrist….”

“Sprained it,” Phichit said easily, his shoulders rolling in a shrug. “I’ll be careful – and despite um, your _drinking_ , you didn’t bite me that deep. The biggest problem is gonna be where you’re gonna get your food.”

“How,” Yuuri’s words were flat, but reluctantly impressed. “Are you not freaking out? Actually – why am I not freaking out?”

“I’m always cool like a cucumber,” Phichit scoffed, but he did raise his eyebrows. “However, that’s a good question: why aren’t you um. Yeah. Huh.”

“Huh,” Yuuri echoed. His brows furrowed. First Vicchan (his heart clenched) had made a whole day seem like a nightmare. He’d plummeted to sixth in the Grand Prix, and that was enough to send him on a tail spin. Viktor Nikiforov’s brush off was also another tally to add to the Yuuri Katsuki’s Greatest Failure pile. Yet this fresh hell had him merely concerned, not wailing into a pillow or freezing with panic.

“…Are you telling me, that becoming a creature of the night has _cured_ my anxiety?” he hissed, glaring at the wall so he wouldn’t glare at Phichit. For a brief moment, he thought he saw a flash of red reflect off nearby surfaces.

His friend actually had the gall to start laughing, and it sounded a tad hysterical.

 

\--

 

As it turned out, being a … well. Whatever he was (he’s not using the V-word yet; Phichit kept trying and it was driving Yuuri out of his tiny little mind.), it wasn’t easy.

Firstly, the sun was a pain. A literal, physical pain. He didn’t spontaneously combust or anything (which was why when they tested this hypothesis, Yuuri had only put his pinky out into the sunlight), but it hurt terribly, and would – if he stayed in direct sunlight for too long – give him actual burns. That, and it had made it feel like his insides would melt, so that had been a pleasant discovery.

Secondly, and most importantly, was finding nutrition he could stomach. People were off limits, obviously. Yuuri didn’t have a death wish. Nor did he feel at all comfortable macking on someone’s neck or wrist. And there was … the Other Thing. After breaking Phichit down because he insisted he needed to know what it had felt like, his friend had – through great discomfort – explained an interesting side effect of being a blood slurpee.

It felt good. It felt _really_ good. Orgasmic, was Phichit’s description, and unfortunately it came close to matching Yuuri’s own. There was also something of a numbing and paralyzing agent involved too, because it was only through the power of Phichit’s hamsters that the Thai boy hadn’t been sucked dangerously dry.

Yuuri wished he spoke hamster. He would have personally apologized and then thanked the little critters for existing.

So, in lieu of stealing blood bags or draining someone directly, Phichit had suggested he go hunting. For rats. Or raccoons. No pets, obviously. He wasn’t a monster.

Or was he?

He really, really didn’t need this in his life.

 

\--

 

Celestino had let him practice and train later in the evenings, for which Yuuri was grateful. At the moment, it was just Phichit and himself, the last two people on the rink. In an attempt at solidarity, Yuuri had claimed the blame for Phichit’s injury to Celestino. He’d gotten an earful, but his coach’s natural bombast had been minimized; he had assumed Yuuri was still getting over his flu. And he knew how much Yuuri had loved his dog. The man wasn’t made of stone.

In many ways, all this insanity about his _condition_ had made everything else he’d known (excluding Vicchan’s passing) in the last few weeks absolutely unimportant. Even Viktor Nikiforov’s total (and understandable, his mind reminded him) brush off had been side-lined until he could really come to grips with this new version of himself.

It was as true as he’d stated that fateful night not so long ago: apparently, whatever he was didn’t have problems with eyesight, night vision, or anxiety attacks. He’d lied to Celestino, admitting he could use contacts with his doctor’s permission. He’d lied to himself when he said it was strange not to have to use glasses to see. He’d lied to himself when he said that not having panic bombs going off in his heart was merely ‘convenient.’

It was far more than convenient. It was freedom unlike anything he’d ever known before.

And like everything good that had ever happened to him, Yuuri Katsuki felt guilty about it.

Besides, the whole ‘need fresh blood to live’ thing was still a wretched downside he had no problem complaining about. He figured the perks weighed even with the bad.

“Celestino totally took it easy on you today,” pouted his best friend in the world. Yuuri was fairly certain anyone else would have fled by now. And that was before he started trying to kill _hamsters_ in the dark of the night. “Probably because you still look pale as hell.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a tiny pinch of exasperation. It wasn’t like he was made of glass. Opposite, really. And indeed, he was still ‘pale as hell.’ “I need to take more risks.”

“I’m just glad you still want to compete,” Phichit said, his tone very honest. “I hadn’t been sure.”

Neither had Yuuri, though he didn’t want to say so now.

“Also get back here!  How are you even hearing me right now?”

Yuuri looked up and blinked in surprise, skittering to a stop on his blades. There was a good fifteen meters between him and Phichit. He frowned before sliding over. “I don’t know, you sounded like you were right next to me.”

“Wow, your weirdness is making you a bat. Wink wink, nudge nudge,” said the person Yuuri had thought was his best friend.

“It still sounds ridiculous to me,” he grumbled, self-conscious at the theory Phichit posited as much as he was exasperated by it.

“Nothing should sound ridiculous at this point,” Phichit corrected. “So – do you want me to spot you while you try some jumps?” The younger of the two had already laced up his skates. “I won’t tell Celestino if you won’t.” And this time with a real wink.

Yuuri smiled, tentative. “Alright. Let’s see if my legs remember how to do this,” he muttered before he pushed off, gaining momentum.

What happened next was a bit hard to describe.

He did what he normally did to get into his rhythm; circling the rink at higher speeds, and setting into a few sequences that made him comfortable in his own skin. Though that last bit was less necessary than before. He focused on how his legs should move, and forgot about everything but how it felt to fly off the ice.

And there was the takeoff from the forward outside edge of one skate, aiming to land into the backward outside edge of the other; a simple axel jump.

He spun around three times with no effort whatsoever.

Oh, he fell hard in surprise, of course he did. He hadn’t put nearly any strength into that lift off at all, and he’d gone and made a single a triple. That had never happened before.

“Woah! Yuuri are you okay? It’s a bit early to go for a triple axel, don’t you think?” Phichit’s voice was closer before the sight of his skates carving into the ice jarred Yuuri back to the world. The Japanese boy looked up, stunned, giving Phichit pause. “What happened?”

“I – I don’t know. Let me try for a triple this time,” he said, his words frantic as he got up quick, and _flew_ past Phichit’s yelp of 'THIS TIME?'

_Just remember to push off with the same strength as a triple this time_ , he thought, eyes still blown wide from disbelief.

From the moment he escaped the ice, he knew this wasn’t going to be a triple.

_One, two, three, **four FIVE –**_

And this time, he landed it, pirouetting after he did so, before braking hard, causing a flurry of ice to cover his legs.

And he wasn’t even out of breath.

Yuuri looked up, shaken down to his bones, eyes so wide they probably eclipsed his face. Phichit looked at him as if he’d sprouted wings and stated he was the queen of fairies.

_Shit._


	2. In Which Yuuri Takes a Calculated Risk But Man Is He Bad At Math

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Yuuri couldn’t keep secrets (besides the life-threatening ones, Phichit considered), so this required some serious interrogation. Several new notifications popped up on his phone, and he realized Viktor Nikiforov was liking a bunch of Yuuri-based posts. He’d apparently waited until speaking with Phichit before doing anything on Instagram. What a gentleman. Also the dude had more restraint than people gave him credit for._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Phichit had so many questions._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who commented, kudos'd, bookmarked and subscribed...thank you. 
> 
> If you guys have any questions, feel free to ask!

“I am currently thanking every star in the heavens, and all gods and goddesses available, that you had the decency to leave your phone in your pocket.” Yuuri would normally be drinking water like a fish at this point, to try and cool off the feeling of being on fire with what felt like awe. But water was kind of pointless now, and he was short a rat, so Yuuri settled for sitting on the ice, staring at his skates like he was seeing them for the first time.

Phichit was next to him, but his eyes were trained on Yuuri so intently that it was beginning to feel invasive. “It would have been called ‘fake’ in like, two seconds. There was no way that anyone would have believed it.” He sounded mournful. “Oh my god I can’t believe I didn’t film it anyway. Can you do that again?”

“ _Phichit_.”

“I’m sorry! No wait, I’m not sorry. Seriously, can I get it on my phone? For posterity?”

“Phichit, no.”

“Phichit, _yes_ ,” his soon-to-be-ex-friend countered, waving his phone at him. The younger boy was starry-eyed. “Yuuri, you don’t understand. I feel like, moved. The world is no longer the same.”

“Oh my god.”

Phichit pouted something fierce. “It was beautiful, is all I’m saying.”

Another long silence, this time. Yuuri’s exasperation caved to make way for something raw. He looked at Phichit, eyes dark, despite the faint glow of his irises. “I can’t … can I – should I compete?” Yuuri asked at last, and it felt like he was tearing out a part of himself to say it.

“What?”

“I have, I think, an obvious advantage,” Yuuri continued, sounding bland and tired. “How can I go into a competition like this? I’m not saying I’d beat anyone, but if I can pull off…was it really five?”

“Yes, you did a _quintuple_ axel,” Phichit mumbled, starting to frown.

“Then…why should I take the place of someone who has to work for it? No, listen,” he interrupted as Phichit opened his mouth in protest. “I’ve worked hard all my life for this chance. If I knew someone got into this and they were supernaturally talented, I’d be angry. Really mad,” he muttered, though he was fairly sure the emotion he’d really be feeling was despair.

“That doesn’t matter,” Phichit countered, and while there was a hint of uncertainty around his eyes, his mouth was set in a grim line. “This is your dream. You can tone it down if you practice restraint, right? Like handicapping yourself? Besides, it’s not your jumps that put you where you are today. No offense,” he added, though he seemed pretty set on his point of view.

Yuuri couldn’t help the pang of inadequacy that reverberated through him, but didn’t contest Phichit’s critique as it was true. “Some taken.” He looked forlorn. “If you didn’t know me, would you think it was a fair trade?”

“Hell yeah I would.”

Unsure if his friend was simply not ready to see him leave an art he so obviously loved, or if he was eager to see a quintuple axel again, Yuuri sighed. “I don’t know…it felt so effortless.”

“Then do what you’ve always done. Put less emphasis on your jumps and make up the rest with an awesome PCS – show people that they don’t need to be super-mega-ultra-awesome jumpers to compete in the big leagues.”

Frankly, he kind of wished he’d listened to this advice before, when Celestino was saying the same thing. Despite the lingering self-doubt, Yuuri knew – now more than ever – that he could do it. The only reason he’d been off his game (that he actually had a game to be off of was already a slow-brewing revelation) was because he’d kept thinking about Vicchan, and not being there for his last moments.

Jumps did not make the skater, but they helped immensely. And if he didn’t have to worry about jumps….

Yuuri Katsuki, for the first time in his life, felt confident.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been before, to get to where he was, but it hadn’t been like this. Yuuri had always categorized the emotion as determination rather than confidence. He knew he wasn’t the best, not naturally gifted, but he worked hard to achieve his goal. Honestly he’d never aimed for gold – any medal was satisfactory. As long as he could share the same ice as his idol, just once, and make a good impression, Yuuri would die a happy man. Probably.

Actually no, he probably wouldn’t die unless someone cut off his head? Was that how this worked? He wasn’t sure of anything at the moment.

“So, will you stay?”

The silent contemplation had gone on for a bit too long. Yuuri started, and then felt bad at the worry on Phichit’s face. “Yes…I just have to be very careful,” he finally acquiesced, not quite sure he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

“Such a crime,” his friend lamented, crying out as he leaned back onto the ice. “Seriously – just do it once to show you can, before you retire or something, just pull a quad axel and flip someone off mid-air while doing it.”

For the first time in what felt like months, Yuuri laughed. 

 

\--

 

Phichit was the one who asked Celestino if he could come with them to JNC. Yuuri hadn’t known, mentally preparing to try and keep his secret on his own for essentially the first time. When he did find out, he’d been exasperated and relieved, having been deeply unsure if he could manage but worried about Phichit’s own workload. Still, it had been a true comfort.

In the last few days before the flying out for the competition, he had worked tirelessly before his sessions with his coach, training at night, trying hard to keep his steps light and his jumps as ‘weak’ as possible. It was harder than he’d thought. Yet it seemed he hadn’t any nerves left to fray; he’d landed almost everything he’d tried, and was starting to feel like someone had handed him the cheat codes to the universe. This wasn’t, in his mind, a good thing.

“Aren’t you tired at all?” Celestino had asked him, and Yuuri was able to respond: “A little,” even though that was a lie. He really didn’t prefer lying all the time, but what else could he do? Wear a sign around his neck that said ‘Vampire Level 1’ and hope people accommodated him?

Ugh, now he was doing it. Dang it, Phichit.

“I know you can practice for hours and not notice,” Celestino chuckled. “Just don’t push it. You’re still recovering.”

Though he hadn’t told anyone, there had been something bothering him about his programs. Yuuri had run through them again and while he still loved and felt the music, it was like he was going through the motions. He could make it look good, yes, or else Celestino would have had something to say about it by now. Perhaps he could hash it out after he performed them at JNC, then he’d have a few months to come up with a new one in time for Four Continents in February.

It took him a moment to realize he really was far more invested in continuing skating than not at all. The notion startled him mid-spin and he nearly toppled.

Well that was good – at least he wasn’t so able that he couldn’t be distracted.

Still, he was double-checking himself. The doubt and shame were still present, and he certainly didn’t think he was the best skater in the world, nor worthy of _admiration_ – but he wasn’t feeling like he should stop. There was an impetus in him to try again. Vicchan was always one of his biggest fans; he owed it to him, and the rest of his family, who had worked hard to bring him this far. He could give it at least one more big push. Viktor still played a role in his motivations, and while he was still embarrassed about that dismissal Yuuri knew he’d feel better if he pretended that whole five seconds of his life had never happened.

In a way, he knew he was separating his newest _situation_ with his skating career, and that…probably wasn’t healthy. Phichit would say so, he thought. Being the incredible internet doctor he was, Yuuri would consider it compartmentalizing.

He’d worry about how he’d explain his bundling up during the day and not-eating to his family later. He’d worry about his freakish physical accuracy, hearing and sight later. He’d worry about a lot of things later.

 

\--

 

“I don’t know why you insisted on coming with me.”

“I wanna know how you do it, and what you go for,” Phichit responded, chirping the words despite the fact that they were huddled together under an umbrella and the rain was coming down like no one’s business, not even regarding the real reason they were here. Yuuri felt misery in his bones, but it wasn’t the cold; he hadn’t had anything to eat for a while, deliberately putting off the ‘hunt’ for a day before Phichit caught him looking listlessly at the hamsters. And sometimes Phichit himself. Again.

He just felt like some kind of feral animal doing this. Having Phichit with him either made this better or worse.

“Maybe I can help scout a … a rat for you or something.”

Definitely worse.

“Don’t do that, please,” Yuuri pleaded, somehow managing a blush despite the apparent lack blood flow through his body. He was surprised by this every time, and he didn’t try to understand how it worked. There wasn’t anyone to ask, after all. “Just stay here and keep a lookout for me?”

There was silence momentarily. “Look, I just – I wanted to,” Phichit paused and then sighed. It sounded shaky. “I get what’s happening on the surface, but I don’t think it’s sunk in with me, not really.”  
  
The admission startled Yuuri. “Really?”

“ _Seriously_ ,” Phichit groaned. “I can’t believe this is really happening. I look at you and I see my friend, but I also see the … I see the person who tried to exsanguinate me. The two aren’t meshing well in my head. I tell myself what happened that night was just some fluke, but it doesn’t change it. I don’t _like_ being _afraid_.”

The silent ‘of you’ hung in the air like a more or less the Sword of Damocles.

“I – I didn’t know you felt like that,” whispered Yuuri, expression pained, eyes wide.

Phichit shook his head hard. “You’re obviously still you. But… this is nuts, and frankly, it was a really close call that night. I just want to make sure you’re doing everything you can to avoid scaring someone else. Or worse.” He gave Yuuri a look that was definitely the most scathing he could manage; Phichit wasn’t made for reprimanding. “And _you_ – you can’t just avoid the reality of it. I was mad when I realized you hadn’t eaten, but I didn’t want to make you think I thought less of you or anything. I’m just scared you don’t understand what it means for me when you try to avoid eating these days. It puts me in danger.”

It was hard to argue with that. Yuuri’s face crumpled with both guilt and shame. “I’m really sorry Phichit,” he managed, eyes downturned.

“Aw hey, look,” Phichit, murmured, sounding a tad guilty himself. Yuuri’s sad puppy eyes tended to make everyone want to bundle him up in a blanket, but that wasn’t anything his friend did on purpose. “I mean it when I say I don’t think less of you for uh, doing this midnight snacking thing – obviously you have to. So don’t feel bad. Just keep it up on the regular, or, well.”

Or else Phichit was back on the menu, whether either of them liked it or not. Yuuri sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. “This is really the worst,” he spoke with a strained voice.

“It’s not great,” Phichit concurred, sounding a bit more like himself. He smiled in the dark. “But you are still you, and you’ve got willpower for days. I’m rooting for you.”

Red eyes turned to the alley, less reluctant than before, embarrassment grinding down to practicality. To get this done, he had to keep himself fairly disguised. The black raincoat was an addition necessary for today, but he usually wore a slim track jacket with the hood up and a face mask secured around his face, the biting chill of the city absolutely ineffectual against him these days. He kept his head down to avoid scaring someone by accident with the whole ‘glowing eyes’ thing. Among other reasons. He could hardly look Phichit in the eye before they staked out this spot; he just felt bad overall, for having to do this. Especially in this strange downpour. It really should have been snowing this late in the year.

Back alleys throughout Detroit were shadier than the dark side of the moon, but they were places where Yuuri could skulk around safely. No one tended to bother him, looking like this.

Skittering noises hit his ears two steps into the alley and he stilled, turning his head sharply at the soft sound. All Yuuri allowed to have on his mind, despite the faint beseeching of his conscience, was his hunger. Otherwise the mortification would win and he’d just starve himself and then Phichit’s words would prove to be true – and he would finally be a real monster. Even in the little time that had passed, he’d realized his hunger was insatiable. There wasn’t a limit to how much he could drink and reach satisfaction. Every time he stopped, it felt like there hadn’t been enough. And there was the small, seductive voice in the back of his mind on repeat that reminded him how good it felt to have a human’s pulse quicken against his lips, and how sweet it was to drink deep and let pleasure envelope them both.

Yuuri grit his teeth and bit back an annoyed grunt, heat once again flushing his cheeks.

It was frightening on many levels, but like many, _many_ things, Yuuri was considering it Future Yuuri’s problem.

There was a rat or two behind the dumpster to his right. A few stray cats had huddled together under a soggy cardboard box, and a raccoon was digging into one of the residential garbage cans. Considering how famished he felt, Yuuri decided bigger and scrappier was worth the extra mileage on the meal. The less he had to do this, the better.

Whenever he moved with purpose, especially when food was involved, Yuuri traveled fast. His steps hardly sounded against the concrete beneath him, and whatever water he moved through made little to no noise whatsoever. His hand struck out into the darkness, though he could so clearly see the huddled mass that was the poor raccoon, and stunned the creature. It made a sad ‘yip’ noise that, for a moment, almost made Yuuri reconsider.

His hand gripped tightly into the damp, dirty fur.

Nope. Too hungry. Too dangerous to leave unfed.

Eyes burning in the darkness, so unlike the warm cherry chocolate they appeared during the day, Yuuri’s mouth parted, fangs extending with a faint click before he bit down decisively and drank deeply. It brought him nothing but nutrition, he had noted. It was his version of going out for fast food. There was no pleasure, just calories to get him through until next time.

It wasn’t like it had been with Phichit.

Yuuri decidedly _did not_ think about how it had been with Phichit.

When he was done, Yuuri gasped for air. He’d been way too thirsty. Sometimes he’d managed to stop and let the animal weakly totter off; sometimes he couldn’t. Panting, he wiped his mouth clean and gently laid the now deceased raccoon down next to the dumpster, covering it slightly with a tarp that had been crumpled up nearby. Feeling much less like he’d lunge for the nearest living vein (they’d tried using dead animals before; did _not_ work out), Yuuri walked back toward Phichit looking like the living embodiment of guilt.

“Wow,” Phichit mumbled, and offered a tissue under the protection of the umbrella. “Remind me never to piss you off, I guess,” he tried to joke, but Yuuri’s face just twitched as he used the cloth to wipe his face and mouth.

“I have no idea how we’re going to do this when we’re at the JNC.” True, he’d never been to Sapporo (he was grateful now that the JNC wasn’t being held in Tokyo), but Japan had much less in the way of open spaces and even less in the way of ‘bad areas’ to amble around at night.

“We’ll figure it out. Rats are everywhere,” encouraged his friend, who sounded well-meaning. “It’s why I’m coming with you! I would never let you do this alone, you know that.”

The twitch turned into a small smile, grateful and precarious at the same time. “Thanks, Phichit.”

“Just make sure you keep your head in the game. You can totally medal. I hope you remember to believe that.”

Yuuri was trying. It was easier than before, at least. And cutting out whatever ‘special abilities’ he had, he still wasn’t very sure what made him stand out from any other competitor in his sport. 

Vampirism couldn’t cure an insecure heart.

 

\--

 

While Yuuri’s life remained a mystery online, Phichit Chulanont was no-holds barred. He had a strong following, and he did not ignore (nor advertise) that any posts with Yuuri tended to get double the likes and comments. It wasn’t an ego thing; he knew any Katsuki fan was thirsty for updates and pics since his roommate didn’t really do much in the realm of SNS (shy and cautious to a fault). Fans were fans after all. And he kind of considered himself a fan too.

But with the recent changes in his friend’s life Phichit had done him the favor of not recording much for social media, and he was a little startled to get messages inquiring after his friend. Not surprised by the presence of said messages, but the sheer quantity of them.

He scrolled frantically through them on the morning they arrived in Sapporo, looking at once relieved and amused. Most of them inquired about Yuuri’s state of mind, worried because they’d seen his reaction to the Grand Prix results live. Phichit knew those feels; it was why he’d ignored Yuuri’s usual bubble of personal space and gone in for a solid hug when his friend arrived home. Most of them he could respond to safely, but a few he had to be vague – the ones regarding his Yuuri Katsuki Radio Silence, specifically. _Yeah no worries, he’s just a vampire now so he sleeps a lot when I’m awake and while posting pictures of a sleeping friend is cute once, it gets creepier the more often you do it_.

Then he noticed something he _really_ wished he’d noticed earlier.

_Hello! I heard from Chris Giacometti that you’re a friend of Yuuri Katsuki’s. I was wondering if it was alright to reach out to him through you? He doesn’t seem to have much of an online presence (such a shame!) so I was wary of trying through what looked like empty accounts._

The message was so nice and nondescript, but had a few emojis near the end that belied the enthusiasm of the sender, who just so happened to be one **_v-nikiforov_**.

Phichit blinked slowly and refreshed the page, unsure if he was seeing things.

That was not possible.

Ah, no, it was still real.

He glanced askance at Yuuri, who looked pretty dead tired from this angle (ha ha, ‘dead’), and made a judgement call to not tell him. Not yet. He had enough to worry about as is. But he would definitely tell him after the competition. He’d so _freak_.

_Hello Viktor!!_

_Wow it’s a bit of a shocker to get a message from you direct! Congrats on your Grand Prix win, btw! Yuuri’s on his way to JNC and I’m with him right now. You can totally get messages to him from me if you want. I’ll ask him if he wants your contact info directly._

Phichit paused. After…after the competition, he reminded himself. After.

_He’s a big fan of yours!_

That was an understatement, Phichit thought.

 _Did you meet him at Grand Prix? He didn’t mention it – but I think he was just being his usual private self_.

And this was the thing that was niggling at him. Yuuri would have absolutely mentioned it, unless…. Unless it was embarrassing somehow. Oh boy. Phichit bit his lip. In the wake of all this other madness, it would have been easy for Yuuri to bury anything else from the Grand Prix in order to focus. Including perhaps meeting his idol at one of the lowest points of his life and career.

Phichit didn’t want to know what happened specifically; he didn’t have to.

Then again… it seemed like Viktor had a good impression of Yuuri. That was good. It meant that Yuuri might have totally projected? Possibly? Phichit decided not to speculate too much.

_Anyway! It’s an honor to hear from you, and I’ll let you know! Good luck with Europeans!_

Safely sending the message, Phichit decided it was okay to get a picture of them together in the car, just to assure Yuuri’s many fans (that boy needed to up his SNS game, seriously) that he was alive (er) and well (um) and ready for the Japanese National Championships.

He didn’t expect to get a soft _ping_ from his phone after he was done.

**_Message from: v-nikiforov_ **

What time was it in Russia? Phichit made a soft noise of surprise.

 _Thank you Phichit! Tell him I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye, and I had a grand time at the GP banquet with him._ There was a winking emoji and three hearts at the end there that made the Thai boy choke on air and start coughing in disbelief.

Yuuri couldn’t keep secrets (besides the life-threatening ones, Phichit considered), so this required some serious interrogation. Several new notifications popped up on his phone, and he realized Viktor Nikiforov was liking a bunch of Yuuri-based posts. He’d apparently waited until speaking with Phichit before doing anything on Instagram. What a gentleman. Also the dude had more restraint than people gave him credit for.

Phichit had _so many questions_.

…After the competition, he reminded himself, biting his cheek, a look of impatience on his face 

 _I don’t think I can wait until then_.

 

\--

 

“Phichit?” Yuuri’s sleepy voice echoed out of the bathroom. He was practicing combing back his hair in the mirror, and had it half-way done, eyebrows raised. Squinting at his friend from across the room, he tried to finish the rest of his thought. “Are you going to the opening night meet and greet thing?”

“Celestino said I could come,” Phichit didn’t quite answer. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just thinking you would probably have to cover for me,” Yuuri mumbled, looking to the side. “I’m way hungrier than I thought, so I have to leave earlier.”

“Ah,” Phichit concluded. He gave his friend a supportive grin. Yuuri hadn’t defended himself the night the two of them had gone out ‘hunting’ together, and in a selfish way, Phichit had been grateful. He was a wimp, really, when it came to Yuuri’s Sad Eyes. And he was sympathetic. While it was a life or death thing, it didn’t make it any less gross or embarrassing. “Yeah sure. Of course.” But there was gladness in him that Yuuri was being careful.

Neither of them had to acknowledge that it was also an excellent excuse to avoid answering questions about Yuuri’s Grand Prix performance. Celestino had definitely been asked, and the man was fair in his judgement, but never revealed the great upset that caused his student’s brain to short circuit. He had been discreet, for which Yuuri was incredibly grateful.

“I’ll be back in the early morning,” Yuuri informed his friend as he shuffled around, looking for clothes to make up his ‘disguise.’

“I can wake you up for your practice session.”

Yuuri gave Phichit a hesitant smile in agreement.

In truth, he was still a bit sore about having to compete here so soon after the Grand Prix. Even if he’d miraculously medaled, it was a bit much, doing this back to back. Anxiety might have gone the way of the Dodo, but the pressure was still there. Yuuri considered this as he left the hotel; what if he’d still been suffering? He would have undoubtedly crashed and burned for this competition, and the dark trend might have continued through to Worlds. If he even managed to qualify there.

For some reason, he felt angry at himself. He shouldn’t, but he did. How could anyone have thought his ball of mental problems could possibly let him do better than mediocre? He’d barely thought so to begin with, and now there was proof: one bump in the road and he self-destructed.

Yuuri grimaced. It hadn’t been a ‘bump’ – it had been Vicchan. Of course he’d flub it. But after the Grand Prix? There wasn’t any room in him for an excuse. He had to do better.

Whatever his ‘better’ was.

Three blocks away from the hotel, and all Yuuri was finding were pets. Because his luck would be like that. Clenching his jaw, he focused on heading to the outskirts, breaking into a jog.

“Hey, you really don’t have to leave town if you want something to eat.”

Yuuri nearly tripped.

The man hadn’t been near him when he’d spoken. It took a split second for Yuuri’s brain to switch to Japanese, and by the time he did, the man was almost next to him. “You must be new. There’s a herd of kine here in town that’s for public consumption, for a nominal fee. You don’t have to run off to be discrete.”

The other man was Japanese, for certain. Pale and taller than Yuuri, wearing a bespoke suit and spectacles.

“I – I’m sorry, I don’t – uh, kine?”

“Hmm, _very_ new,” the man’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s your sire? They should be taking you around town. Showing you the ropes, so to speak.” There was more than a hint of disapproval in his voice.

Yuuri, wondering if he should reveal that he had no idea what the other man was talking about, felt a stab of worry about what would happen if he admitted to it. Uncertain of his prospects, and growing ever hungrier, Yuuri decided to fake it until he made it. Hopefully. “Not with me. They’re at a meeting,” he said, still sounding shaky. “I just got hungry.” And that was true at least; more like he was still hungry. Forever hungry.

“Ah, youth,” the man grinned, eyes wry as his expression relaxed. “I remember those days. One could never have enough.” He gave Yuuri a once-over. “Smart enough to know that just going around nibbling on kine is a bad idea and have enough self-restraint to listen to your better instincts; I’ll treat you this time.”

Something about gift horses and mouths, that was the American saying right? Whatever _kine_ were, it must be better than sewer rats. Rationality butted into the mental conversation and made big signs with the word ‘NO’ painted on them. Gifts from strangers weren’t a good thing, at least half of the time. Yuuri bit his lip, now starting to worry that offending the man would do more harm than good.

“If…if that’s alright. I don’t want to impose,” he finally said, feeling like this was a bad idea on a scale that rivaled The Kimchi Kombucha Incident (the blame lay with Phichit, he still thought).

“No imposition at all,” the man smiled. “Not many Kindred are so humble when they’re obviously so eager. You can call me Kazuyuki. And you are?”

“Katsuki,” he responded, grateful for the fact that they were doing last names, and physically incapable of making up some kind of pseudonym. He wasn’t creative when it came to names.

As it turned out, Yuuri possibly should have just stayed home.

If one was to write Yuuri’s epitaph (before this whole bloodsucker phase), it would have intimated that he enjoyed the quiet, simple life. Phichit’s partying had never swayed him out the door in Detroit, and as a kid, he’d never been interested in drinking or being cool. He did ballet, for heaven’s sake – as far as his peers were concerned, he’d never be ‘cool’ again.

He was now standing in front of a night club, a thing with which he had no experience.

“It’s in there?” he squeaked.

Kazuyuki laughed. “It is! Marvelous isn’t it?”

Not to his sensibilities, no, Yuuri thought, but kept his face clear. It was easy to waltz in the door, as if his host (and himself) didn’t exist; the crowds seemed to shimmy aside for them, regardless of how much dancing was happening or how drunk and oblivious the other party goers were. A small set of stairs led down under the main floor, and the cacophony that had obliterated almost of his senses dulled to a small roar. The thumping bass vibrated his ribcage still, but he could hear himself think.

A large man stood outside of a red door at the end of the hallway. Yuuri felt intimidated almost immediately, but it seemed he needn’t have worried. One look at Kazuyuki and himself, and the lone bouncer moved aside, opening the entrance for them.

Yuuri was pretty sure that if he’d still had a properly working heart, it would have stopped at the sight before him.

Most of the room was done up in luscious reds and blacks, with plush seating and plenty of settees. Every free space was occupied by a reclining human being. Yuuri couldn’t tell you how he knew they were human, as opposed to himself and his host, but he knew on instinct. He could hear the lazy heartbeats scattered throughout the room and gulped.

“More restraint than I thought,” Kazuyuki murmured, making Yuuri start. “Well, pick anyone you’d like

Just don’t take them home with you,” he chuckled. “It was nice to meet you. And tell your sire that if they think it’s a good idea to leave a fledgling childe to the mercy of their Beast, they can come have words with me.”  

 _I have made a huge mistake_ , Yuuri thought in terror as bowed in thanks to Kazuyuki. _A huge, potentially even more life-ruining mistake_.

Very aware that eyes were on him to succumb to instinct, Yuuri moved slowly, incapable of wiping the trepidation from his face. Despite the slurry of words he hadn’t understood from his host, it was obvious that _kine_ meant _human_ and not some very conveniently nutritious fruit. Kazuyuki had called them a _herd_. Yuuri tried not to feel light-headed at the amount of wrongness on display.

“You seem nervous,” one of the many people strewn about the room sat up to speak to him as he passed. She seemed young, Yuuri thought – though he wasn’t one to talk, really. Her eyes were large and her hair a bright purple. She was dressed provocatively, but wasn’t posing aggressively. Looking up from under her lashes, she winked. “New to this?”

It took Yuuri a moment to speak. “Yes,” he kept his voice low; the room felt muffled, like it was soundproofed. “Sorry,” he added, unsure how else to respond.

The girl patted the space next to her, her smile widening. “Come here, it’s totally okay to be nervous. You don’t know how many times newbies just launch themselves at us and have to be forcibly separated. It’s a relief to see someone with an iota of self-awareness.” She rolled her eyes, but the motion was downplayed, like she didn’t want anyone to pay attention to her actions.

Yuuri sat, feeling bitter. “I didn’t know this was what he was talking about. I don’t want to … this wasn’t what I thought it’d be.”

She smiled. “We’re here because we want to be, in case you’re wondering. The Kiss is a pleasure to facilitate,” her voice grew sultry enough to distract Yuuri from realizing he didn’t know if she meant a literal kiss or not, and if that really mattered right now. “And I’d love to be your first.”

On that same epitaph he’d been imagining earlier, Yuuri would have been first to add ‘clinically virgin’ to the list of his known traits. He did not know how to handle this kind of seduction, and it wasn’t even a seduction as much as it was akin to a menu offering. Except it wasn’t just that, he remembered.

The girl scooted closer. “Your reluctance is actually kind of adorable. Don’t tell anyone I said that,” she giggled and bared her neck. After another moment, she took his hand and squeezed it. “Just remember: I won’t be able to stop you, and I don’t want your pretty face manhandled, so don’t get too greedy.”

Blushing aside, the words of invitation made Yuuri wince. Yet her touch was oddly comforting. He knew he couldn’t just leave, not with Kazuyuki still present. This was pretty much the only way out of here. Normal panic was a lot easier to handle, he thought, but it still managed to make him stiff and uncommunicative. After staring at her neck for far, far too long, Yuuri sighed. “Sorry,” he repeated, the word’s meaning feeling hollow. Eyes brightened in the dark before he closed them tight, like he didn’t want to see what he was doing.

His approach was swift. The girl gasped beneath him, her breath coming faster as he drank deep. It wasn’t so foreign a feeling, the heat that grew in him, but it had been so long since he’d let himself feel like this. His life was made of skating and worries about skating; he’d barely had time to make friends, let alone have someone he felt lust for. And he couldn’t even think that word without the cringe of embarrassment happening in his mind. There was something strange about admitting he could even feel like this; Yuuri couldn’t see himself as a sexual creature in the slightest, because, in his mind, who on earth could?

Yuuri’s eyes fluttered and he groaned, holding the girl tighter as she undulated weakly in his grip, her own voice making noises he would later recognize as lewd. It wasn’t just this arousal that burned in him; he hadn’t felt so satiated in weeks – Yuuri hadn’t even known how little the animals he’d husked had helped. It was like he’d never even eaten at all.

His body shuddered in tandem with hers, the girl’s voice making a soft cry of release as she seized beneath him, succumbing. One well-manicured hand held his arm, and squeezed tight. Though the pressure was weak, Yuuri felt a bit of his reason tap sheepishly on the window of his mind. Instinct teased him to keep going, but he shivered realizing what he was doing wasn’t good, even though it felt better than any pleasure he’d ever experienced.

Agonizingly slow, Yuuri lifted his head up from the girl’s neck, sucking in air as he tried to make his vision stop tunneling in on the blood that dripped enticingly from the wounds he’d given her.

“Mmn,” was her response. “It never stops,” she could barely talk. “Being amazing.”

Yuuri was still having trouble keeping his mind off of giving it another go. “Hm?” was his distracted response amidst his heavy breathing, and the new flush on his face.

“You look better,” she added, eyes half-lidded with lingering satisfaction. “Now, lick,” she commanded, though it sounded more polite than rude. His face must have shown puzzlement, because she smiled lazily. “You’ll keep me pretty and fresh if you clean your plate.”

It took a long time for Yuuri to even manage words, embarrassed at his own reaction to the feeding that had just occurred. He’d need to do laundry before he went back to his room. “Uh – I can do that?”

A sleepy giggle escaped her lips. “Of course.”

Chagrined, Yuuri complied, giving the bite he’d delivered a sheepish little lick. Leaning back in surprise, he watched as skin re-knit, smoothing over and leaving only small blood trails behind. Before he could stop himself, he licked those clean too.

The hand holding his own squeezed once. “You’ll get used to it,” she promised, noticing his discomfort as it was incredibly obvious. Her hazy expression morphed into concern. “Oh, don’t fret, baby boy. You were wonderful.”

She reached up to brush away the tears that were falling down his face. Yuuri couldn’t bother to try and stop them.


	3. In Which There Are Extenuating Circumstances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sure how many liberties I took with known canon for VTM AND YoI. But I'm taking them. Because I can. Yes.
> 
> This chapter took so long because I'm technically still writing it. I had to split one HUGE ASS THING into two - there was just no way.
> 
> My goodness, I am a bit shocked people like this so much. I'll keep going, I guess. :D Thank you everyone for your kind words and your enthusiasm!

It was near to midnight when he returned to the hotel room.

The cruelest part of this, was that he felt good. More than good. He felt like he could leap tall buildings or kiss strangers. His body felt like it was singing. His mind, on the other hand, was a giant mess.

At least he could acknowledge that this was par for the course.

While he’d managed keeping himself quiet as he left, the further he traveled from that den of inequity, the harder he’d started to weep openly. There was no stopping the tears once they’d started, and Yuuri had no willpower, even with the rest of him handling like a fine-tuned machine. It was a disconnect he’d felt before; now it was more like he was slowly becoming another person, and the disassociation was terrifying. The entire experience under the night club was an induction he hadn’t wanted, into a society he had no place being. He wanted to throw up, but he couldn’t. So he settled for wallowing in guilt and misery. Hence the tears.

He was sure he looked a fright in public, and allowed two beats of silence to appreciate he could move faster these days. Keeping his head down and mask up, Yuuri fled the world outside.

Phichit was in the bathroom when he got back, and Yuuri didn’t feel like starting a conversation. Not yet. The meet-n-greet must have ended with a get-together. Phichit created get-togethers where there were none, and had a talent for making people agree with whatever he suggested. It was fascinating to someone like Yuuri, who was sure he’d learned only how to alienate himself until Phichit came along. Apparently he was a good enough person to have Phichit on his side, so that must count for something.

Well, at least it did.

“Gah! Yuuri – you startled me,” Phichit had jumped when he’d realized Yuuri had been sitting alone in the dark, like a creep. “You got back early though! Did you find something to eat?”

Yuuri’s response was a shuddering sob, and the noise stilled Phichit’s steps. “…Yuuri? What happened? Are you okay?”

Both of those questions took a great deal of time to answer. His roommate had an arm around his shoulder, which tightened its grip the more details Yuuri spilled forth, unable to halt the flow of his story as soon as he committed to freeing it from his lips. He couldn’t look at Phichit at all, the shame burning in his gut too fierce to try.

When he finished, he was glaring at the floor, eyes hot. Phichit hadn’t left his side. Strangled by his guilt, Yuuri kept quiet. He swore he could feel the disapproval, radiating outward from his friend like a heating fan left on in the summer. Knowing he should have just left made it all worse, but his instincts had killed the notion of leaving before he’d really had a say. What if he had said no, and Kazuyuki had reacted negatively? Yuuri had no idea there had been _protocol_ involved, being what they were; it was all so new.

And he was lost, utterly.

“I’m a monster, aren’t I?” he finally asked.

“No,” Phichit said, firm and immediate. “No you’re not.” He sighed. “I guess, I – we – didn’t know, not really. We don’t know anything about … this.”

“I _suppose_?” was Yuuri’s exasperated response. “Are you kidding? I just drank – I just – a _person_ – I … and I _liked_ it.” _Understatement of the century._ There was agony, but no more tears. His eyes felt like they were scorching, but only the earlier tear trails flexed against the skin of his cheek.

“I think you’re supposed to,” Phichit managed, less accusatory and more embarrassed than Yuuri imagined he would sound. “I mean, it must be _normal_ for, um. Yeah. You guys.”

For the first time since he entered that club, Yuuri felt a sense of balance start to flow back into his life. A smidge. “For crying out loud,” his voice warbled, bordering amused. “Just say it. I think it’s kind of irrelevant now, don’t you?”

Phichit gave a weak smile. “You’re a vampire, Yuuri,” he tried to get his voice to drop a few octaves, but it failed miserably, and he giggled, breathless.

Yuuri put a hand on his forehead, pushing back his hair, his smile desperate but real, and laughed though the sound was brittle. “You really – you’re not mad at me?” he murmured, his eyes finally skirting into his peripheral vision, where he could see Phichit’s knee. It was the closest to direct eye contact he’d gotten since he’d gotten back.

The Thai boy stared at him, and the humor faded a little from his eyes. “I’m not mad. I’m worried.”

“Well,” Yuuri huffed. “That makes two of us.”

“I mean, you said they were all there willingly, but,” his friend continued, brow furrowed. “You don’t know if that was the truth.” He must have seen Yuuri’s pale face grow whiter, and he waved a hand. “Not trying to make you feel bad. Obviously the girl wanted it, but I – do you think it feels good enough to become an addiction?”

Yuuri answered without hesitation, voice low and soft. “Yes.”

Phichit hugged him closer. “You’re not a monster. I’m not mad. I’m worried,” he repeated, managing a something close to a smile. “Just wanted to make sure you heard me say that, because I get the feeling you didn’t.”

The guilt churning in his stomach refused to ebb; Yuuri’s eyes closed to try and drown out his own thoughts.

“Yuuri?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“You.” Pichit slowly tapped his friend’s temple once. “Are not.” Twice. “A monster.” Three times.

The Japanese blinked. Phichit smiled, real and true this time. “I mean it,” he emphasized. “We’re figuring this out. In the meantime, animals aren’t that bad, right?”

Yuuri nodded, fervent, finding a center to hold onto finally. It was almost like having an attack, he realized, but he could climb out of the hole without breaking himself first. This must be what other people are like. Normal folk. Except he had to become something Other to be normal. That sounded like a very him thing to do: complicate things so much they come right back around to being simple. “Yeah – but I’m not hungry, for once. I’ll be fine for a while. Seriously.”

“Well, that’s good at least,” and at least Phichit seemed to be powering through this revelation. To be fair, the younger of the two had experienced a small dose of the true extent of a vampire nibble and knew what it was like. If he was reacting like this, maybe Yuuri wasn’t a scumbag. Well, not inherently anyway. By necessity, maybe.

Wow, this sucked so much. (Ha.)

“I better sleep,” Yuuri spoke, sounding more whole than before, after several minutes of comforting silence. “Or try to. You’ll wake me up?”

“I will,” Phichit promised, exhaling. “Jeez. Right before the JNC. Seriously. What is your life?”

Yuuri huffed a small laugh. There wasn’t anything else to add to that.

 

\--

 

Usually the mornings before a competition found Yuuri alone. A modest breakfast, clean and simple; then he’d do stretches, dress himself, fix up his hair, and put his ear buds in to review his music before heading down to the lobby to meet Celestino before heading to the rink. It was a solitary ritual, born of necessity as much as preference.

This time, he awoke to the shaking of his shoulder. His sleep was deep these days, and every time he woke to work in the day it grew harder to climb out of torpor. Fearing that it wasn’t going to get any easier, Yuuri happily took advantage that he could still get up at all.

“I got your costume laid out,” Phichit’s voice chimed through the fog of Yuuri’s brain. “And I got myself some breakfast. I’ll help you do your hair after I’ve got some food in me.”

Yuuri was fairly sure he muttered something uncouth before he got to the ‘thank you,’ because he heard Phichit laugh. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Neither of the costumes he wore were entirely simple, unlike the years before. Until Celestino commented on Yuuri’s choices, the young skater had only chosen modest dark outfits, unwilling to have his clothes be a distraction. This season he had tried hard to stand out without feeling foolish, and always felt safe in the rich calm of blues, both light and dark. The free skate costume was only sheer up near his upper chest and neck, made up in a white to light blue gradient, with a frill of the collar and the crystals sparkling downward. The short program outfit was more formal: a royal blue vestment that seemed a mix of Renaissance and Victorian, with a white ruffled shirt underneath.

There had been fretting in him for days over the designs, his first real step out of the realm of the color black (and dark grays he supposed), and into the realm of glitter and sheen. While he had found such vibrancy befitting the talented skaters he admired (Viktor being one of them; the man had a great sense of style, and had a natural androgynous beauty – Yuuri cut himself off with a faint mental slap), there had been no such confidence that he could pull off anything remotely similar. He wasn’t like them at all; he just worked hard.

Still, he thought as he slipped into the soft, yet sturdy fabric, it was nice to have a touch of presentation sometimes.

Speaking of presentation – there had always been something comforting about having his hair played with. He’d never admit it, but it felt relaxing. Inherent intimacy hadn’t been a problem when it was his mother combing through damp hair, but Phichit had been working up to this point since they first met. To have Yuuri simply close his eyes and allow his friend to style that enviously fluffy bed head into something presentable. It had been a long journey to this moment.

“I’m still sorry you’re not going to try and pull like, all the quads.”

“I’d be cheating,” Yuuri’s words were murmured, his mind in a bit of a haze.

Phichit chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Oh well, you can do it for yourself I guess. And me. You have to do it for me too.”

Half-lidded, Yuuri made a noise that was probably a laugh, but sounded more like a purr. “Maybe.” With how his time on the ice was spent being watched by Celestino and Phichit, he hadn’t skated just for himself for quite a while. The pang of longing he felt then was odd, as if he hadn’t realized the truth of that statement. When had he last had the rink in solitude, just to skate and meditate on the ice?  

Not in at least a year. There hadn’t been much time for it between school and competitions, and then training for more competitions…. Yuuri frowned, a faint notion that only furrowed his brow. He would have to do something about that.

It was strange being prepared without having to deal with a fuzzy world for the rest of Nationals. Of all the things that had changed in him, not needing his glasses was probably one of the few highlights.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he murmured, eyeing his now slicked back hair with appreciation, shooting a warm look of gratitude in Phichit’s direction. “Thanks. Again.”

“Just get out there and knock their socks off,” the Thai boy grinned back.

Alarming as it felt to say so, Yuuri felt like he might actually do well today. The rare white elk that was his optimism, however, didn’t stop the worry that something had been off about his programs since, well, since Sochi. He had never been able to put his finger on it, and it hadn’t been for lack of trying. Practicing them harder and more often than ever hadn’t yet led to a revelation of any kind, and he was growing irritated about the mystery.

He hadn’t said anything to his coach, but then he hadn’t wanted the man to think he doubted the programs. That wasn’t what it was.

Celestino greeted them in the lobby, and he looked relieved to see them. Yuuri would only be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t relieved Celestino even bothered to be here. The loss of sponsors had been astonishingly minimal after Sochi, which Yuuri hadn’t been expecting **.** But the few that had dropped off meant there almost hadn’t been enough funding to keep the man on as his coach. In spite of this, Celestino himself fronted a bit more out of pocket to support Yuuri for Nationals so he could defend the gold he’d earned prior. Yuuri hadn’t been prepared for that level of generosity, and promptly fell over himself trying to explain how he couldn’t possibly accept such a thing.

 _“You have never been late with a payment, no matter what else was happening in your life – no matter your circumstances. You’ve earned a reprieve._ ”

_“But – !”_

_“Besides, you’ve been a bit different since Sochi; in a good way.”_ And oh how Yuuri had wanted to vehemently deny this. _“I was worried before, but I think you’ve got the right headspace to make your way this time.”_

Frankly, Yuuri still wasn’t sure if he deserved these people. Phichit, with his seemingly bottomless understanding of Yuuri’s 1) anxiety and 2) vampirism (now packaged without the anxiety, but he’s pretty sure he might actually catch that mental illness again with how things have been going). Celestino’s inexplicable confidence and guidance as he fumbled his way into a professional career _somehow_ doing what he loved. His entire family and support group back home, for _everything_. He was incredibly lucky, he had always thought – but he had no idea how to make it up to them.

Except here – on the ice.

He had drawn first, because of course he had. During the rush of reporters asking questions (some about the GPF, but not nearly as much as he’d thought – Celestino must have done some damage control), he had spotted a few young faces he felt were familiar. Admittedly, he often didn’t connect with other skaters, not feeling very worthy (despite age differences) to get to know anyone very well (until Phichit, really), so he tried to remedy his apparent coolness by smiling slightly (if warily). Their eyes were on him, but only one of them managed to squeak out a greeting as he passed by.

“I – I’ve admired your skating since forever!” the young boy continued, not at all stymied by Yuuri’s obvious and complete shock. “I hope you do well today! You’re amazing!”

The lady who hovered behind the young boy put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you should introduce yourself first,” her voice was exasperated but warm, as if she’d been putting up with this enthusiasm since forever.

“A-ah, s-sorry, Odagaki-sensei! I’m Kenjirou Minami! Please watch me!”

Yuuri absently thought that this was someone who could only really speak in exclamation points. Alarmed as he was by anyone being a fan of his, it was … he didn’t feel as badly as he usually did for the affection he felt he hadn’t yet earned. “I – I will, of course,” he responded in kind, earnest and slightly apologetic. He was grateful (even if embarrassed), and actually wanted to show it this time. “Thank you for supporting me too,” he added with a little head bob.

Kenjirou looked like he might faint, the red in his cheeks high and bright. He opened his mouth to say something else, but shook his vivid head of hair instead. The boy’s coach seemed to come to his rescue, and redirected her smile to Yuuri. “Pardon us, Kenjirou is second after you and he needs a moment to prepare.”

“Certainly,” Yuuri managed, torn between sincerity and amusement, leaning toward the former for the sake of not insulting the younger skater. “And, thank you – good luck.” He even had the gumption to curve the corners of his lips upward.

Yuuri had turned around to keep walking to the rink, strangely endeared as he left behind a red-faced – dare he say it – fan? He hadn’t thought he’d made a very good impression during his first senior circuit run, but maybe he’d been mistaken. Then again, that had never been something he paid attention to. His main focus being the skating itself, and any advice Celestino had to give about handling press and sponsors and all the things Yuuri hated doing.

The short program had been woven around a bit of music he’d loved since he was a child. He hadn’t known the name of it, only hearing it in a commercial once. [The song had been sung by a women’s choir from Bulgaria](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_WKm7B-kPK4), and had a particular warmth to it that Yuuri had resonated with. Celestino had strongly recommended it, and in a way, he was fortunate that he agreed. Yuuri had been incredibly meek about his own music choices in the beginning, so much more interested in skating. As time passed, and especially in the last year, he had (very, very quietly) begun to wonder if he should start offering options. That one piece he’d commissioned … oof, he still felt terrible about that. But then, if it hadn’t been impressive to Celestino (and he would only admit in his mind that it only sort of kind of meant that his own skating career hadn’t been that impressive to his own coach), it wouldn’t have been a good song to use.

The teasing edges of new-born confidence insisted he should try again. Maybe not commissioning pieces, no – not yet – but at least selecting his own music. He wasn’t necessarily a novice at choreography, but he had a lot to learn, and Celestino surely wouldn’t be averse.

“Remember, you only have the two quad toe loops to hit,” his coach murmured as Yuuri took a moment to stretch before his turn. “You’ve got this.” This was murmured with pride as he took his student’s jacket.

In the short time between the Grand Prix and now, Celestino had been more muted in his support, but not less frequent. Since then, he had never tried to reassure overmuch (Yuuri’s brain had consistently interpreted the reassurances to mean that if he needed them in the first place, then he was screwed). Celestino had learned from Yuuri’s meltdown it seemed.

“I think I do,” Yuuri’s last words came out surprised as he pushed off onto the ice.

 _There’s something about how I’m moving to the music_ , Yuuri considered, his heart hammering in his chest like it always did, but without the burning fear that usually accompanied. Gah, he needed to get his head out of these distracting thoughts, but….

The announcer was finishing up listing the order for short programs, and Yuuri lazily circled the rink, feeling the wind against his skin as he moved faster. Traitorous, his mind slipped back into overthinking, and he nearly lost his footing when something occurred to him, a sharp realization that threw things into perspective.

_Too blocky. Not quite fluid enough. You are trying to tell a story from a point of view you haven’t bothered relating to. Have you ever loved like the person who sings this song? Loving without asking for anything in return? Longing for a ‘what if’?_

Of course he had. He was _such an idiot_.

Yuuri heard his name being called out and quickly assumed the starting position of his routine, his mind running at a mile a minute at this sudden understanding. He knew what he’d been doing wrong this past year.

 _Not this time_. He felt the determination burn in his heart. **_Watch me_**.

The general murmur of the audience seemed to hush as soon as he looked into the crowd, a fierce expression sobering to something gentle, closed. There was finally peace of mind enough to really channel the performance he wanted – and he wasn’t going to throw away this chance.

Despite every eye on him, Yuuri finally, _finally_ , danced.

His arms bloomed outward, back arching as his head tilted back. Movement was achingly slow, which took a lot more effort than it appeared. Balancing himself on the ice, he propelled himself forward, embracing someone who wasn’t present, the contradictory feeling of having someone close to your heart while they were far away was eminent on his face as much as the rest of him. Yuuri had forgotten what it was like to lose yourself in the song, to let his body remember how to land those jumps, and spin around on the ice like he was extension of it. He’d been increasingly tense as the last few competitions had gone forward, and … somehow, he’d forgotten.

More often than not, Yuuri had found his mind mired in other thoughts while he skated. Overthinking things had always been his downfall, especially when it came to trying to _think_ his landings rather than simply feeling them – especially in front of an audience.

 _Bring some feminine motion here – the song’s story belongs to a woman after all_.

It had been old advice from Celestino. Yuuri had balked at the notion, only because he had no belief whatsoever in himself to pull off delicate or effete convincingly. He had told Celestino as much, and the man had put a pin in the idea but hadn’t pushed too hard. Lack of confidence led to Yuuri sticking to what he thought he could do best. It turned out he had no idea what his ‘best’ even was, and that had been – no, _was_ – a real problem.

How was he only seeing this now?

There wasn’t a real finite notion he could hold onto yet, but the beginnings of new realization felt good. He translated the emotion into something kinetic, and flew off the ice at exactly the right moment, swirling into the last quad and landing solidly, as if he hadn’t absolutely ruined the same move mere weeks ago. A sit spin and then his fingers brushed along the ice as he drifted to a close, chin tucked and body stilling as soon as the music ended.

Several seconds passed, and Yuuri realized that no, he hadn’t lost his hearing. The arena was silent. Unsure, he pulled upward, hesitancy obvious on his face, and blinked in surprise. Looking for the nearest expression he could find, which happened to be a photographer, he realized that something might be a tad … off. They were holding their camera askew, gaping openly, leaning over the rail of the ice rink, a faint flush on their cheeks. Several women next to them were looking positively enamored, and little nostalgic – odd, but that was the only emotion the skater could place.

Growing red-faced in return, Yuuri decided to try and pretend like this was normal and waved tentatively to his apparently stunned audience. Had he messed up that badly? He hadn’t felt like he’d flubbed his steps at all, he had been absolutely in time with the beat, and there hadn’t been any missed jumps. (A cursory check had reassured him it wasn’t a wardrobe malfunction either, thank every god ever). Confusion littered his mind until he heard the squeal of a microphone’s audio failing momentarily and an echoing cough.

“A…and that was Katsuki Yuuri, making an amazing comeback that’s left all of us enthralled! Surely the judges would agree with me here.”

The rest of whatever the announcer said was absolutely drowned out by the most enthusiastic cheers Yuuri had ever received in his life. The young man winced at the enormous volume of his positive reception, but he managed a relieved smile regardless and quickly made his way to exit the rink as bouquets and stuffed animals rained down upon him.

Well, that was weird.

“Perfect,” Celestino’s praise was genuine and relieved as he greeted him at the edge. He gave a water bottle to Yuuri, who pretended to drink (it hadn’t hurt him yet, but he didn’t want to risk accidentally dry-heaving right now) as a towel was placed around his neck. “That was perfect.” It sounded like he could barely speak.

He was then greeted by Phichit, who looked both flushed and far too urgent, and tugged him aside for the brief moment he could do so.

“What _was_ that?”

“Did I do something wrong?” was Yuuri’s counter question, looking like he would break into some serious fretting if he didn’t get an answer to this soon.

“N-no, I mean – you were great! Best I’ve seen you at a competition. But – it was like I couldn’t look away.”

“That’s very flattering but –“

“No I mean, I literally couldn’t look away,” Phichit countered in a low voice, his tone two parts wry and concerned. “Everyone was quiet and watching, but I couldn’t get my head to move. My eyes were literally stuck.”

Yuuri only seemed capable of looking confused as he was dragged toward the Kiss and Cry, unable to give Phichit a proper answer to that strange statement. How was it possible to ensnare an entire audience to such a literal degree? And was it actually him? Or….

Vision blurred as he stared out at the exuberant crowd, uncertainty beginning to bubble uncomfortably under his skin. He was surely imagining that enthusiasm, overwhelming as it was; right?

When his score was announced, Yuuri realized that perhaps he hadn’t been.

“109.53?” he echoed, in disbelief, his voice hitting an octave that hadn’t been in his vocal neighborhood for years. Celestino had cheered and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, shaking him once with fierce pride all over the older man’s face. Yuuri was fairly sure his jaw had dropped open in permanent surprise, eyes taking over half his face, too stunned to say more.

“A personal best for Katsuki, beating his top short program score by over twenty points! What a comeback!”

After that sounds were muffled as congratulations and applause collided in the air, slamming into his ears violently and making everything sound as if he was underwater. Feeling very much like he needed to wake up, he let himself be led off; surely this wasn’t actually happening for him.

“ – uri? Yuuri! You in there?”

Absently, he noted he was still standing off to the side, by the rink. Celestino was fielding reporters (he always did; it was one of the few things besides coaching that Yuuri let him do (because he was terrible with the spotlight, and it seemed that hadn’t changed)), and Phichit was next to him, hand tentatively placed on his forearm, giving him a light shake.

In a faint voice, Yuuri finally responded. “I think I cheated,” he croaked out, mind running a mile a minute and disbelief continuing to color his expression. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t just ….”

“You did though,” Phichit grinned widely, though he too seemed a tad concerned. Yuuri couldn’t see it on his friend’s face, nor quite hear it in his voice, but somehow he just knew Phichit wasn’t being totally honest, emotionally anyway.

Another beat of silence in the otherwise tumultuous arena. “…You really couldn’t look away?”

That bright grin muted. “I tried. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t either. I don’t know what it was, but I guess it’s just more weirdness to sort out later, maybe?”

“I wish I had someone I could ask about it.” _Without fearing for my existence_.

“That _would_ be nice,” Phichit responded, cheerfully droll. “Seriously though, you were really amazing. You absolutely deserved that score, and you should stop doubting yourself.”

 _Easier said than done_ , Yuuri thought, though he raised his eyebrows and the corners of his lips upward; an attempt at a smile was better than nothing at all.

 

\--

 

The next day was his free skate. Yuuri contemplated this while in the bath.

Okay, so he didn’t need to take baths or showers, not really. He didn’t stink of death – actually he didn’t smell like much of anything. Technically he was _tabula rasa_ , as far as smells went, unless he purposefully used cologne, scented soaps or hair products. Or if he decided he liked rolling around in garbage for some reason.

As far as baths went, he did it to relax, not to clean. It was the closest he could get to an onsen experience, and he wasn’t going to let it go just because he didn’t _have_ to anymore. Bastions of familiarity were diminishing in his life; he had a right to cling to the ones that remained.

Regarding the strangeness with the audience: neither himself, nor Phichit, wanted to set it aside as a fluke, mostly because he trusted Phichit’s word – that, and Yuuri still wasn’t sure what it was he had actually done. His Thai friend admitted that while a lasting impression of that short program was now burned into his brain, he hadn’t been frightened at all. Star struck, more like. And he joked that perhaps when Yuuri ditched his worries that was how everyone might react to his routines.

Yuuri doubted this _very_ much.

Still, he was happy to know how to properly present his routines. At last.

Regardless of his own success, and how utterly thrown he’d been by it, Yuuri stayed to watch the rest of his competition. He hadn’t forgotten what he’d promised Kenjirou, and was genuinely glad he’d been a bit more open to talking. Yuuri was on a mission to be less of a clam around other skaters (and people in general, really – except for reporters, he reasoned), and he was glad it was working out far less terribly than he’d expected. Minami had done his routine to a cover of a Disney classic (‘[Friend Like Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVa16y2Uoxg)’ seemed so fitting for the bubbly, jazzy personality of his younger competitor), and seemed – despite technical flaws – emotional and enthusiastic. Yuuri felt the weirdest emotion at the thought that perhaps he had been someone to inspire another. He had no name for it, but it made something in him flutter in quiet awe (and a few pinches of disbelief).

Minami Kenjirou had scored wonderfully, but in the end it was Yuuri who was currently in first place by a substantial lead.

Deep in thought, and covered in bubbles (because occasionally he allowed himself the luxury of being twelve years old), he was snapped back to reality by his ring tone. Blinking in surprise, he fumbled for it, stretching to reach it and nearly dropping it into the water before he answered.

“Hello?”

“ _If I wasn’t sure that your sire knew what you do for a living,_ ” came an unexpected voice that Yuuri didn’t recognize right away. “ _I’d recommend quitting_.”

It took several beats of silence before Yuuri found his lungs again. “K…Kazuyuki? How did … how are you –?”

“ _Difficult to track your private number down, but not impossible, especially since I just saw you on television. Listen,_ ” the man’s voice sounded harsh, tired, but not hostile. “ _You can’t just impose your Presence on an entire stadium like that. I don’t even know how you pulled it off without exhausting yourself into torpor. Regardless, it’s very frowned upon – disruptive of the Masquerade. Has your sire even seen you yet?_ ”

A lot of words were flapping around his ears, and Yuuri was barely comprehending the tone with which they were being said, let alone what it meant.

“N…not yet,” he said, and with the natural sheepishness that came with Yuuri’s voice when he was confused, it was taken at face value.

“ _Well, they won’t be happy with that stunt_.”

Annoyed at being lost every time this mysterious acquaintance opened his mouth, Yuuri bit his cheek. “Why are you calling me?” he asked instead of being snippy, his voice quiet.

“ _Making sure your sire hadn’t done something to reprimand you too harshly. Fledgling or not, you’re obviously very talented. There aren’t many of us in Japan – even fewer of us are actually in a spotlight as bright as yours. I hope you don’t mind that I read up on your career._ ”

Oh, he minded. But he couldn’t fault the other man for figuring it out.

“ _And I wanted to ask what Clan you belong to?_ ” Kazuyuki chuffed. “ _I can make a guess, honestly, but I thought I would ask_.”

Yuuri felt a bit faint. He hadn’t the slightest on how to answer him and the pressure of lying was beginning to give him a headache. If he made something up, he’d be found out immediately, so the whole thing crashing down around him was now a reality, one he hadn’t been prepared for in the slightest. There had been an assumption that he’d never hear from Kazuyuki again after last night. He might not have had a panic attack since Sochi, but he was fairly sure dread would have overtaken even the coolest of cucumbers in this moment.

“Um… I … uh. Please… please don’t be upset,” he stammered, now growing more terrified as he leapt even further out of his element and into the wild. In the end, he could only hope that being honest would bear him better consequences than having the nerve to lie. “But – I don’t. I don’t know.”

There was an incredible silence on the other end of the line, the weight of it could be felt on his back, curling him up into a ball as the water grew cooler.

“ _What do you mean_ ,” was Kazuyuki’s measured response, voice crystalline with tension. “ _You don’t know?_ ”

“I – I mean, I don’t know anything – I don’t know anything about what you just asked me,” Yuuri spilled like the proverbial beans, fairly certain he was in his death throes. RIP Yuuri Katsuki; he leaves behind his family, coach, teacher, married childhood friends, his best friend and his best friend’s hamsters. “I don’t know what clans are, I don’t think I have a – a sire, I didn’t know what kine meant until you took me to that – that place, you’re calling me a _fledgling_ but I don’t know what that means either and I’ve only been like this for a month and I don’t think there’s a welcome pamphlet and I didn’t know what to do – ”

“ _Stop_.”

Yuuri’s mouth clacked shut audibly.

It seemed Kazuyuki was struggling to respond. “ _…I think I need to meet with you in person._ ” Yuuri’s breath hitched, and the man must have heard it. “ _I swear I mean you no harm_.” Like Phichit earlier, Yuuri swore he could hear the honesty in this statement, and most of him knew that was an impossible certainty to have at a time like this. “ _However, this is not at all typical_.” There was something in the turn of his voice near the end that seemed like this was an understatement. “ _And the less you know of your situation, the more danger you’ll face_.”

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed, still feeling like he was floating above his body.

“ _Where can I meet you_?”

Fear nibbled at his sense. “I need to bring someone with me. Can I?” he blurted out, not even thinking.

Kazuyuki didn’t even hesitate. “ _They’re human, yes?_ ”

“My roommate. I kind of… I kind of almost had him for dinner, by accident,” _so I owe him a lot_ , was not said aloud.

Kazuyuki sighed heavily, and Yuuri felt worse, if he hadn’t already felt like the bottom of a taxi cab before. “ _I don’t know how you **didn’t** kill him if he was there when you finished your Embrace, on your own, no less._ ”

Those words shook Yuuri more than anything else so far. Had it been only luck that he’d stopped himself short? Had it really been so close?

“ _Very well – but if he breaks our confidence he may be killed for doing so. There are laws in place for these sorts of incidents_.” There was a mutter, but Yuuri heard, faintly: “ _I’m already breaking quite a few, if I’m right_.”

That felt like the tip of an iceberg as far as conversations went, so Yuuri kept his mouth shut on the topic. “We can meet you wherever you think is safest. I don’t know this city well.”

“ _Tonight. I will send you the information._ ”

The call ended with an abrupt click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea - and couldn't find - any info on the music used for Yuuri's programs for the season leading up to the Grand Prix in Sochi. So I made shit up. :D I based the costume descriptions off of [this little bio](http://i.imgur.com/J3rVcmi.jpg). I figured he'd start with simple dark costumes, being who he is, and only expand to color when he feels a bit more confident to do so. ALL ASSUMPTIONS ON MY PART.
> 
> EDIT: Also I messed up in regards to lingo: Yuuri is a fledgling, not a neonate. Kinda. Either way, I fixed it. No one else will know but me, how wrong I am. Yay.


	4. In Which Guilt is an Unreasonable Emotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever. Also holy shit the enormous amount of messages and kudos and attention and everything this fic has gotten has been beyond anything I imagined. Thank you, dear anon, whomever submitted this thing as a recommendation to [victuurificrec](http://victuurificrec.tumblr.com/) on tumblr - holy ffraaaack i have no idea how to deal with this.
> 
> And thank everyone else, who actually liked this stupid thing. You are all amazing.

“Couldn’t this be some kind of setup?”

The bundle of nerves and guilt wrapped up in Yuuri Katsuki’s clothing, nodded. “It could be.”

“And your plan to get me out of there if things get hairy is…?” The word ‘skeptical’ didn’t even begin to cover how that sentence sounded.

There was a hesitant shrug. “Run very fast, in the opposite direction, carrying you if I have to?”

Phichit’s face did a thing. Yuuri was fairly sure that if the roles were reversed, his friend would have done everything properly, even while panicking. There was something about Phichit that meant he would find a good solution, make a billion friends, and then come out on top regardless, no matter his situation. Yuuri wished he had an ounce of that good fortune and genial nature, but no – he was stuck with endless uncertainty and a hair-trigger use of the word ‘sorry.’ And self-deprecation that, very apparently, did not rely on his anxiety to function. It had likely been a house built by said anxiety over the years, and could stand on its own now – how _wonderful_.

He was sure these inner-sarcastic-monologue moments were going to get him killed one of these days.

They had sat themselves in a small booth in the farthest back section of a lounge Kazuyuki had directed them too. Any light in the establishment was dim to none, and the rest was red, painting everything in possibly the worst color spectrum. Everyone in here looked very serious; they wore nicer clothes and spoke in low tones, ordering expensive drinks.

Yuuri was just glad Phichit had helped him keep an eye out for stray photographers. Being in figure skating had never attracted unwanted attention before, mostly because Yuuri hadn’t been a very spectacular persona in the field – but with his short program score this afternoon, he wasn’t so certain anymore.

He couldn’t even enjoy two seconds of success on the ice, could he? Everything about that performance felt to him, mired by lack of understanding. Desperate was a good word to describe his feelings on the matter.

“My apologies,” and suddenly there was Kazuyuki sitting opposite them, his own red eyes subdued in the odd lighting. Yuuri and Phichit started together, dislodging themselves from their own private thoughts. How did he move so fast? “I had meant to be here sooner, but there had been some reading up to be done.”

“I’m Phichit,” his friend surged forward with a handshake on the ready, and Yuuri blinked at the gesture. He had spoken in English, as if testing the waters in any way wasn’t bad enough.

The vampire across from them raised a polite eyebrow, but accepted the handshake. “Pleasure to meet you,” and the words had a strong British accent, which surprised Yuuri, though he wasn’t sure why. “I hope you understand that discretion is paramount.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to believe me,” Phichit responded, smiling though it was grim around the edges. “Besides, I’d never do that to Yuuri. He’s my best friend.”

There was a part of him that always felt sheepish whenever Phichit declared this to the heaven’s but now it was absolutely quieted by overwhelming gratitude.

“I must say I appreciate your candor,” Kazuyuki continued in English, his own fingers interlacing together in front of him, obviously thoughtful. “I will not waste your time, and try to be as succinct as possible. But first I must ask: when and where did your Embrace occur?”

Yuuri didn’t want to recall that miserable period, but he was here, wasn’t he? Reluctance likely showed easily on his face, but he was in no mood to hide it. “What do you mean ‘embrace’?”

“When you were turned. When you became what you are now.”

Ah, so that’s what that meant. “Less than a month ago, in Sochi.”

“Russia? Interesting. And how long did it take you to start manifesting your hunger?”

It felt like he was being interrogated for a crime he didn’t commit, but Yuuri still gave what he knew. “Um…a week? It took a week. I just felt sick before then, like I had a stomach flu or something.” Going into detail would be wholly inappropriate.

Kazuyuki raised both eyebrows. “A week. And your friend is still alive – that is remarkable restraint. I would say impossible for someone so new.” Whatever disbelief was in his words, he sounded strangely like this made him worried as well.

“What um…you asked me what clan I belonged to?” Yuuri prodded, when the other man seemed to linger in silence. “What did you mean?” Phichit was typing into his phone, fingers rapidly moving though no SNS logo was on his screen. He was taking notes, Yuuri realized, his face too tense to betray this recognition to the man across from him.

Kazuyuki came together to respond. “Yes…well. Kindred – our kind – have various … traits that we tend to pass down when we Embrace our chosen. Clans are more or less your family; by looks alone, I can rule out a few for you, but otherwise….” He shook his head, seemingly finding it difficult to say what he wanted.

“Traits?” Phichit interrupted, an intense look on his face. “What do you mean?”

“I suppose you would call them ‘powers’ – abilities some of us must train to master, but others have come naturally to them.” Kazuyuki didn’t seem to mind the interruption, his expression still solemn. “There are clans that – from the moment of the Embrace – pass down their natural inclinations and features. Some show visibly the kind of monster one might imagine a vampire to be,” Kazuyuki paused. “Which is why I can safely say that whomsoever Embraced you did not belong to _those_ clans. Possibly.” One of the man’s thumbs rubbed against the knuckle of his forefinger and he huffed what might have been a laugh under his breath. “Honestly, I thought you belonged to my own, at first.”

Phichit looked like he was about to ask which one that was, Yuuri beat him to the chase. Sort of. “Why … why did – I mean, why am I on my own?”

The red eyes across from him burned like coals. “Because you had the misfortune of being Embraced by a despicable creature. They took you for themselves and left you to rot.” Sheer anger roiled off of Kazuyuki’s whole being in waves. “There are laws against it, but they are as archaic as all Kindred eventually are. They easily lay blame upon the childe as much as the sire. Back in the day, such fledglings were hunted until they were disposed of, as they were each of them a potential power imbalance. Now, unless you are willing to suffer the burden of a Clan’s scorn and privilege, you are cast out from all Kindred society. Heavily monitored and inconvenienced in exchange for existing.” Getting this off his chest seemed to pain him, but he had the decency to look Yuuri in the eye. “We call them – you – Caitiff. Clanless. Without true lineage.”

Resounding silence overtook the conversation. Yuuri felt strange, like he’d disconnected from reality, and tried hard to swim back to the surface of the dark void that was trying to drag him under. Phichit looked similarly gobsmacked, but was far more grounded. “That’s – that’s unfair. That’s ridiculous. Are you – are you _saying_ …” it was like his Thai friend couldn’t even speak for the level of incredulity he carried. “Yuuri could be killed for something that _wasn’t even his fault_?!”

Despite everything else, Yuuri’s hand darted out to grab Phichit’s, like some kind of desperate octopus. “Phichit,” he murmured, the word as much of a warning about volume as it was a grateful plea. The tension in his friend’s hand lessened by a fraction.

“No, not necessarily anymore. Unless you’re rebellious about joining a clan and want some kind of dictatorship of your own. Kindred get tetchy about territory.” Kazuyuki, for one, didn’t seem all that bothered by Phichit’s outburst. In fact, he seemed sympathetic. “First step is to get you introduced and accepted – you’ll be monitored, yes, but you’ll at least have a proper introduction on how to handle the Masquer—pardon.” He shook his head, almost exasperated but not quite. “Pretending to be human,” was the phrase he used instead. “To blend in with people. We may not all be equally adherent to the practice, but that’s the main gist of what we call The Masquerade.”

It was too much, was what it was. Yuuri could barely comprehend just how far away from himself he’d come. “And…what if I didn’t want to be part of any of it?” he asked, quiet and fairly certain he had turned off all of his emotions in order to handle what was being said with any aplomb.

Kazuyuki hesitated, then spread his palms flat against the table and lowered his head. “There is no cure. You have already died once – I know of nothing that can reverse such a transformation, nor undo your resurrection.”

They were exchanging facts, solid truths between them like they were haggling over the price of bread. But at least he knew – somehow, damn it – that Kazuyuki was being honest. Nothing curled suspiciously in his gut. “I … I just mean – I’d prefer to try living like a hu-person,” he could have bit clean through his lip at that slip. Besides, he _had_ been asking about a cure; he just didn’t want to admit even his instincts had been right about there not being one. “Not be a part of … whatever you guys do. I just … I just want to live a mostly normal life – just for a little while longer.”

Phichit’s hand was still holding his, and it gripped tight.

“It’s honestly not up to me.” Kazuyuki straightened his back, giving both of them a studious once-over. “But I would not begrudge your eventual choice. I can see the freedom in it, even if it is at the sacrifice of power. However,” he raised a hand, palm open. “You do need to make sure they know you exist. Hiding is worse, and could guarantee your death.”

“Where do we even start?” was Phichit’s grumbling response. “And – you can take offense or not – but why are you being so helpful?” he was not in any mood, it seemed, to be effortlessly cheerful.

Yuuri hissed out a very strained “ _Phichit!_ ” but Kazuyuki’s eyes had already narrowed to slits.

“I have nothing to gain from aiding and abetting a Caitiff,” the chilly response was slow-moving, like a glacier – and just as inevitable. “In fact, it would make me look a fool to do so. But Katsuki,” and Yuuri’s head snapped forward in alarm at the mention of his name. “Is not ordinary. Caitiffs are always unusual, no matter their origin. But he bewitched an entire stadium full of people tonight and that…is abnormal, even by our very loose standards.” The icy expression warmed somewhat, heated by irritation.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to,” Yuuri blurted, eyes widening, wearing a look of astonishment so pure it hurt.

Kazuyuki tsked, and he could see the cold anger drain from him into something that looked more like a mixture of affection and exasperation. “Of course you didn’t, childe. The fact that you’re not in a coma is still astounding to me. And your self-control…it’s like you have no Beast at all.”

Yuuri didn’t know what that meant. He was still trying to wrap his head around the first volume of information Kazuyuki had poured into his mind. “What…?”

The other vampire held up a hand. “I’m not the best person to explain further. It would behoove you to seem innocent of anything else. You may endear _some_ Clan leaders with your newborn ignorance, and you’ll want to have that edge, I promise you.”

Phichit leaned back, looking exhausted, his head tilted up toward the black ceiling. “This is … a lot.”

Yuuri simply nodded, uncertain.

It took a little while, but Kazuyuki’s expression began to settle into something more passive, as if he was coming to a decision. “Allow me to simplify: when you return to wherever shall be your home, I will ask my own clan to reach out to a representative in your area for an introduction. You’ll need to look the part, however.” That cold edge was finally tapering off, melting into amusement. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wear something more presentable than what you had on at the press conference this morning.”

Yuuri swore to all that was holy, unholy, and galactic, Phichit’s demeanor shifted from ‘tired husk’ to ‘capricious sprite’ in like, two seconds. He actually leaned away from the force of eager mischief his (supposed) friend glittered with. “I insist on being present when you set the suit he normally wears on fire, if you please.”

Gravitas of the previous conversation now thoroughly destroyed, Yuuri yelped, “ _Phichit!_ ” Honestly, he was more betrayed than scandalized.

Kazuyuki had the gall to smirk.

A few more details were eked out of Kazuyuki, as if enough hadn’t already been shared. One thing that was underlined in bold, bright marker was the fact that animals were fine but they wouldn’t help Yuuri maintain any kind of human façade; per Kazuyuki, only human blood would work. There had to be biology behind _how_ it worked, but Kazuyuki admitted he didn’t know much about it. Yuuri actually was curious, but in the distant way that he was interested in how stars were formed. He didn’t need to understand – it would never be relevant, surely.

It was just another blow to realize the only way to not look like a walking, glowing-eyed corpse was to make sure he had human blood once in a while.

Based on Yuuri’s seemingly innate abilities (the ones Kazuyuki admitted he could witness) and career choice, he had recommended a Clan called Toreador. His own, finally answering Phichit’s earlier question, was called Ventrue. Besides that, he wouldn’t explain more. The idea of leaving Yuuri was just enough ignorance to be helpless would be, apparently, an appeal.

After a hashing out over plans on what to do next, Phichit ran to grab himself what he called ‘the strongest drink with sugar in it’ from the bar. All the planning and new information apparently made him in dire need of a relaxant. It left the two vampires alone for only the second time, briefly.

“Um,” Yuuri gathered his courage into the small container he had in his soul for confidence. “I still need to skate tomorrow. Can you teach me how to not do, uh, whatever I did?”

“I hope you don’t mean your skating, because I feel like you might need that.” Over the course of their conversation, Kazuyuki had grown prone to fits of sarcasm, and Yuuri was torn about whether he appreciated that or not.

“Ah, no,” he frowned in response. “I mean the whole ‘can’t look away’ thing.”

“Your Presence. You want to mute your Presence?”

Yuuri finally started to hear the capital ‘P’ on that word by the weight of it on Kazuyuki’s tongue. “Yeah, that,” he confirmed.

The man frowned. “It isn’t a trait I possess, if I must be honest. I cannot subdue a crowd in such a way. But,” he seemed to note the growing panic on Yuuri’s face. “I share a cousin-trait; it is similar in desire, but the effects differ. I can tell you that if you keep a laser focus on yourself and your skating, you should have an easier time. Were you thinking of the audience at all when you performed?”

“…yes,” he answered, the word oozing out of his mouth. Because of course he did – he had…oh. He had wanted them to watch him at his best. He’d asked for it with his heart, he was sure.

And they’d all listened, albeit a bit too literally.

“My recommendation is to not do that,” which was like asking an actor not to consider the lighting for their scenes. Impossible, thought Yuuri. But necessary, if he was going to skate without absolutely wrecking his conscience. It was torn up enough as it was.

When Phichit returned with the largest brightly colored drink Yuuri could imagine, Kazuyuki stood. “I’ll need to make many calls,” he eyed them both, looking wary as well as concerned. “Do try to keep a low profile otherwise. Outside of winning your competition, I mean.” And there, his voice turned wry.

“We’ll be good,” Phichit promised with a bright, sharp grin. “We have your number.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri immediately made sure to say. “I don’t know how to ….”

As if knowing what he was about to say, Kazuyuki shook his head. “Just … be careful. You’re of a decent sort, and that’s, frankly, not what Kindred are known for. It’s not why most of us vie for this life.”

The moment the other vampire side-stepped and seemingly vanished from sight, Yuuri heaved a deep sigh, full of several things he couldn’t name (and a few he could). Phichit made a very large slurping noise with his straw, in a desperate attempt to finish his sip and talk to Yuuri, turning his head fast.

Instead, Yuuri interrupted, his whole being a painting of woe and exhaustion. “Before you say a word,” and there were probably going to be many, “…I’m sorry.” He was hunching in on himself again, misery starting to cloud his vision.

“… _Why_?” was Phichit’s only response, his dark eyes widening. “You can’t be sorry – nuh-uh, I’m not allowing it. Nope.” Yuuri tried to override this decision, but came to a screeching halt when his friend put their hands on his shoulders. “ _No_. If anything, you’re a victim – someone did this to you, remember?”

“But you’re getting dragged into this,” Yuuri’s voice barely made it out into the open, reluctant to accept Phichit’s words. “I don’t want you in danger.”

“I think you don’t need to decide that for me. I think you’d trust me to know what’s best for myself.” Phichit’s intonation was sharp, but his gaze was warm. Yuuri looked at him like he’d never seen him before. “Trust me. I don’t want you going in alone on this. It’s too much for one person to handle. Think about it – if it was me in your shoes, would you leave me to handle this on my own?”

“No way!” Yuuri burst out, feeling his first real emotions since that phone call in the bath. Outrage and distress colored his cheeks, and then he blinked. “Oh.”

Phichit practically twinkled with amusement, but there was reprieve in the tension across his shoulders. “Pretty much that, yeah.”

They sat together for the remainder of their time there, companions in a world now far removed from their old one. Yuuri’s eyes closed, starting to feel the tug of sleep try and pull him under. These days, his sleep schedule was completely wrecked. He could sleep all day and stay awake all night – but evening performances held the notion that he had to be practicing beforehand, so he was awake during the day, skirting around direct sunlight. When he’d explained this to Kazuyuki, the man had simply stared at him, somewhat taken aback. “ _I don’t think you’re getting enough rest,_ ” was all he had said, though his eyes told Yuuri that Kazuyuki had been utterly surprised.

Hunger, of course, was always present; but his cravings were still fairly muted from the night before. He didn’t want to think about what he’d have to do the next time it got bad.

“Think we can trust this guy?” Phichit asked after his tab had been settled and they were walking back to the hotel.

“He seemed pretty upset about me being left alone,” Yuuri didn’t really answer. “I don’t know, but for now, maybe a little?”

“I did like what he thought about your wardrobe.”

Hands covered Yuuri’s face. “Phichit.”

“I’m serious. It’s so rumply! You could get a bespoke suit – I can’t imagine your sponsors or your fans being averse to that.”

Swinging back and forth between the fantastical and the everyday was not going to be good for his health, but at least Phichit was there to remind him he had other, equally important, things to worry about. And that those things were human. And despite his new status (and permanent, the sinking black stone in his stomach only fell deeper), that was what he had to strive for: figure skating, college, what few friends he had, and family.

The thought struck him in the gut. Family. _Family_.

“Phichit, I have to tell my parents,” he gasped, eyes wide and stricken. “Oh god. I have to tell them I’m a vampire. How am I supposed to tell them I’m a vampire?” His hands gripped the sides of his head, and he swore – if there was any supernatural, creature of the night who could manage a panic attack, it would be him. There wasn’t any tell-tale rabbiting of his heart, but his chest constricted painfully and the tips of his fingers tingled like an omen.

They had stopped for this; Phichit had quickly moved him out of the way of any prying eyes and ears, hands firmly gripping his elbows.

“I can’t – I can’t tell them, can I? But I have to, I have to,” he continued, heat behind his eyes. “I can’t – I won’t be able to do things with them – I can’t go to the beach, I can’t go with them to festivals, I can’t have dinner with them,” he actually sobbed. “I can’t eat katsudon.” There was wrenching sort of noise that Yuuri only half-realized was him trying to cry and laugh at the same time, the sound hollow and aching. “I can’t have anything.”

Phichit’s hands tightened and slowly enveloped Yuuri in a hug he barely even recognized. The mess he’d devolved into was surely horrific to witness, but his friend just kept still, not saying a word.

There wasn’t, after all, much to say.

 

 

\--

 

 

Emptiness of a familiar kind woke him, and he grimaced when he realized what it meant.

He was alone on the couch, and not a joint in him was sore or stiff. A blanket covered him entirely, like he’d been tucked into it as a human burrito. It was incredibly comfortable.

Barely, he scraped together of what he could remember last night and winced. That had been an utter breakdown. Phichit must have guided him back here, because honestly he had been so lost to sorrow he hadn’t even noticed. Yuuri had to remember to do something amazing for what might possibly be the best friend in the universe; he had to be, to put up with Yuuri’s incredible ability to wreck himself.

Unfortunately he was starting to get hungry again, though he could probably hold out until after his free skate. Who knew, maybe being starving when he skated would help keep that weird ability of his at bay.

“Morning,” Phichit’s voice reverberated and Yuuri managed to look up with bleary eyes. His friend was holding a bowl of cereal and looking more relieved than peppy. “I was just about to wake you.” There was a thoughtful pause. “You’re hungry, right? It’s been more than a day.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri croaked and coughed to clear his throat. There was absolutely no point in trying to sugarcoat, not when Phichit had declared himself in it for the long haul. “I can last until tonight, but then I better find something.”

“Alright,” Phichit smiled, wan but earnest. He seemed pleased by something, but Yuuri had no idea what that could be. “Ciao Ciao called just a few minutes ago; he was wondering if you were up for a wee little conference this morning.”

Groaning ensued. “That wasn’t a request, was it?”

“He mentioned something about being able to afford a better suit.”

“ _Phichit he did not_.”

 

 

As a matter of fact, it sort of tied into that particular idea. “You have a lot of interested parties wishing to sponsor you after yesterday’s performance,” Celestino clarified after a friendly morning greeting. “I thought you’d like to meet a few.” The look he gave Yuuri distinctly clarified that he had tried his best to whittle down the number of people who ended up on that list, and Yuuri managed strong vibe of gratitude.

“But I haven’t even done my free skate,” Yuuri mumbled this part, like it was a huge puzzle as to why anyone would bother.

“They were very eager, regardless,” Celestino chuffed, obviously amused at Yuuri’s reticence.

Well, that meant exactly what it meant: he had already begun to pull himself out of the grave that had been the last Grand Prix Final, and there was no turning back now. “I guess that’s alright, sure,” which translated to: _Thank you Celestino for not piling more social interaction into my life I very much appreciate it you are the best coach_.

“Happy to keep me and you paid, I should think,” Celestino offered, patting Yuuri on the back once. The look he wore meant: _Anytime; you deserve a break._

There were several new faces. Actually they were all new faces. Yuuri navigated them with humble confidence, the kind he only scrounged up for these circumstances. Sponsors were people too; they just had a lot more money than they apparently knew what to do with and also liked figure skating. Yuuri knew he should be more grateful – he _was_ grateful – he was just consistently confused that people wanted to pay him money to skate.

“You truly captivated last night.”

Yuuri snapped back to the present. “Thank you,” he bowed in response.

“Admittedly I’m only a representative, but on behalf of the Kazuyuki Estate, it is an honor to meet an artist such as yourself.”

It took Yuuri a few moments for his face to register the mental hiccup. “Uh.”

He absorbed the visage of the woman in front of him. There was a smart business suit and skirt attached to a formidable presence, her hair a neat bob cut and her make-up minimal but absolutely emboldening. The expression she wore was placid and her poise flawless; she held out a small envelope. “My employer is properly invested,” and her words were cloaked with subtext, but Yuuri – for once – didn’t seem to misunderstand. “He wanted to make sure you knew. There are further details in his statement for you.”

“Th-thank you,” he repeated with a deeper bow. When he rose to meet her gaze, he spotted the hint of a smirk on her lips.

“Good luck, Katsuki-san.”

He tried not to clutch the envelope like a life-line. When Celestino finally ushered him off to practice, Yuuri tried not to feel like he was drowning either.

It didn’t work very well.

 

 

\--

 

 

Bonus: without the abundance of fresh human blood making him feel like he could fly, Yuuri could skate almost normally. There were several jumps that failed during practice, but he was still tiptoeing his way around the rink. Everything was a gentle shove rather than an enormous exertion. Being properly fed, he hadn’t had to think twice about anything. Now he was back to where he was in Detroit – tentatively making sure he didn’t whirl into a quintuple in front of a live studio audience while also making sure he used enough strength to skate like a normal person.

It was a hard balance to keep. He could do triples for hours on end, he marveled. As long as his concentration didn’t waver. Which it was still prone to do, as evidenced by a flubbed quad loop that rolled him into the rink wall with an impact that rattled his teeth.

“Yuuri! Are you alright?” Celestino’s voice grew closer as he ran toward his student.

“It’s okay!” he nearly leapt off the ice, but remembered himself. Normal people wouldn’t just walk that one off. Learning how to fall on ice was crucial to keeping oneself from serious injury, but even then it could leave a painful reminder. His body, at least, remembered how it felt and he tried to act like it. “I think I winged my shoulder,” he rotated the side that had smashed against the surface.

“Take a break – even you, yes you, can run out of energy, and I don’t want you getting hurt now,” his coach held Yuuri’s ‘good’ elbow with one hand, guiding him off the rink. “I was worried enough about your vision.” Celestino had been happy to hear that Yuuri started using contacts, despite having issues with them before (thankfully, he had never specified what kinds of problems he had), though he had made noises of concern if adjusting would mess with is performance. If only he knew.

Yuuri managed a half-hearted smile. “Yes, coach.”

While benching himself was a bit of a relief, Yuuri abruptly found himself being asked ‘are you alright?’ by people he had never met before. This was the opposite of a reprieve. For once, forgetting he was in front of an audience (small though it was) was not something Yuuri had wanted or needed.

The quad loop had been flubbed for a reason, of course. He’d made the mistake of considering how hungry he was, and the deep yearning for fresh blood completely startled him out of rotation.

As well, Minami had hustled his way over without Yuuri noticing, his face marred by obvious concern.  The boy fluttered around Yuuri worriedly – though despite the amount of enthusiasm, the boy seemed nothing but genuine. He didn’t pander to Yuuri like a few others had done.

Yuuri’s mind felt particularly single-track. All he could imagine doing right now was feeding himself.

Minami wasn’t helping.

 _Oh yes, how dare he show interest in my well-being and sit so close and have a pulse_ , thought Yuuri, sardonic inner thoughts coming to his rescue for once.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Yuuri blurted out, and would have blushed if he’d had enough blood in him to do so. Still, he appeared flustered and sheepish. “My mind drifted.”

“You must be tired!” And there was that trademark exclamation. “It’s okay! I was just asking if you got enough sleep.”

“I did – I think. I’m not used to a lot of attention before or even during competitions,” Yuuri managed, wrangling his voice down to something less evasive. “I’m genuinely surprised anyone knew me outside of a programming schedule.”

Minami gasped; an actual, clutching-hand-to-chest gasp. “No way!”

Yuuri hadn’t really talked to his competition before, whether they liked him or not (because he really couldn’t tell – or at least, he hadn’t paid attention), so he was also surprised by this reaction. “….Sorry?” he angled for amused and embarrassed and realized he wasn’t so much angling as falling into the reaction headfirst.

“Ahhh don’t be, but – but that’s so strange to me! I have always – um – been inspired by you.”

Was it odd that he wanted to hug this weird, precious child? Yuuri wasn’t going to cave to the sudden need, especially when he was hungry (and because hugs were still awkward to initiate – that was a trait he and his sister shared), but it still made his face pull an amazed, wobbly sort of smile. No one had ever told him that before. He was fairly certain only Minami (and maybe Phichit – Yuuri wasn’t sure it was the same with friends – their admiration went both ways) would, but still.

“Would it be strange to say ‘thank you I needed to hear that’?” Yuuri offered instead, obviously a little hopeful that he _wouldn’t_ be considered strange.

A hot red color overtook Minami’s face. “N-no! Of course not, I – I’m glad!”

How often had he missed these kinds of opportunities? True, his self-worth was still in the toilet by most (and even his) standards, but he hadn’t thought he’d been so … closed off. Phichit had once told him he’d been prone to ‘resting bitch face’ (which he still wasn’t totally sure what that meant) when he was prepping for practice, and when he was competing. That probably didn’t help with the whole ‘being approachable’ thing.

It was hard when you thought you weren’t worth approaching to begin with.

At the end of practice, he snuck in a few more moments on the ice, trying the quads he’d been planning to do with a bit less thought and a lot more emotion.

_I’m not worthless. Even now, I’m not worthless._

He sailed through the air.

 

 

\--

 

 

Using [_The Flower Duet_](https://youtu.be/kyUOmAuqVMo) as his free skate music was something he didn’t regret.

Kazuyuki had also been correct; his concentration on the story he wanted to tell overrode any concerns about the audience. There had been no magical, flashing neon Pay Attention To Me sign hovering over his head this time, and he felt far less guilty of earning the highest score he’d ever received on a free skate. Less guilty, in that he _had_ earned a win this time. There had been a slight wobble on one of his quads near the end, only because he’d had to keep himself from over-rotating into a damn quintuple, but otherwise….he had finally made a proper go at the senior level. Sochi felt like years ago. Well, parts of it did anyway.

Gold was a proper medal to earn, he thought, still dazed as he was hugged from both sides by Phichit and Celestino, who were shouting something to the heavens.

This high of success bid him to handle all the resulting attention with profuse thank yous and head bobs and humble acceptances of appreciation. He did it without passing out or blabbing for too long, which was another personal best.

Yet it did nothing to prepare him for the news Phichit relayed after the celebratory dinner.

“So, I got a message from Viktor Nikiforov because you are a high-functioning lurker,” his friend started as Yuuri’s head snapped to face him. “He wants to know your personal deets.”

“I’m sorry, I think I had crazy in my ear,” Yuuri responded, and his voice warbled like he was sixteen again. Lovely. “I can’t – Phichit, no. I can’t – I can’t just…I mean. No.”

“I hear a big yes,” Phichit grinned. “Oh come on Yuuri! He reached out to _you_. Don’t you know how cool that is?”

“The last time we even saw one another, he thought I was … just a fan,” the flat response was very honest, and oddly un-Yuuri-like. It was cool and bitter on his tongue, and he felt immediately bad for saying so, rebounding quickly. “I obviously didn’t make a positive impression, being sixth.” _Or any impression, really_.

“But you are a fan,” Phichit’s unflappable response made Yuuri jump in his seat. “And I’m a fan too – and we’re all fans of each other. Well, most of us. I know your man-crush is ridiculous –” (“ _It isn’t a crush!_ ”) “– but … being a fan isn’t a crime.” He sniffed. “Not saying that kind of brush off wouldn’t totally ruin my life for a while, but my point stands.” And there was a tiny, helpless shrug after that sentence, along with a smile that screamed understanding.

At least Phichit got what it felt like; that made Yuuri less tense. “…I guess I don’t know why he’d reach out so personally is all.”

“Maybe he wants to apologize. Only one way to find out!” And Yuuri’s phone was thrust into his face. “Actually be a presence online for once, get yourself on Insta, post your win, and then message him yourself. Don’t forget to give him your number! He wanted to actually call you.”

Yuuri muttered something uncouth in Japanese under his breath.

“ _Hmmmm_? What did you say?”

“…Okay – okay, fine. I know I won’t hear the end of it from you if I don’t.” As if he could even feign reluctance at the thought of having Viktor Nikiforov’s personal cell number. _I’m not extremely confused and terrifyingly overjoyed right now, no; I am the coolest of cucumbers._

He wouldn’t get his hopes up; it was too much to assume that he’d somehow made a good impression, but maybe it was about something minor – maybe Yuuri was just a stepping stone to another person he wanted to reach (who, though)? Maybe. Either way, no reason to have the world revolve around him. Phichit was probably exaggerating Viktor’s interest.

At least with a text there was a fair chance that he wouldn’t turn into a blathering idiot in front of his idol and inspiration.

Phichit’s expectant face hovered in reach of his hands, and Yuuri had to blink at the abrupt mental image that conjured itself. A little closer and he could grab him by the neck just so –

His hands twitched. “Phichit um…just give me a second.” He looked up, a wince making his face twist. “I’m a little…too hungry.”

“Oh? …Oh! Sure – I’ll be on the couch.”

Yuuri ignored the nervous trill in his friend’s voice, or else it would have made him feel even more like trash. Trash that was on fire, perhaps.

 

 

\--

 _[ **Photo: Yuuri is at an angle**_ (which shhh Phichit helped at the end of a long fretting session) ** _, but the tentative pride on his face speaks volumes. He looks pretty pale, but the lighting probably has something to do with it.]_**

  
**@** **katsuki-yuuri:**  considering how this last year went, this isn’t a bad way to end it. 私を信じることをありがとう. #japanesenationalchampionships #whatdopplsayaboutsecondchances? #phichit-chumademe #badlighting #don’tcarewongold #mostofthesehashtagsarePhichitsFault #katsukiyuuri #representingJapan

**phichit-chu** : MY BF GETTIN DAT RECOGNITION #katsukiyuuri  
**minimi:** YAY YAY YAY i dont even care i didn’t get gold UR DA BEST  
**phichit-chu** : but u got silver @ **minimi** #upandcoming!  
**christophe-gc** : merde, i had no idea you were even on here and now i am _immediately rectifying_ #datquadloopinyourfreeskatetho  
**TreeFiddy** : @ **KYFANS** @ **Yuurice** YOU GUYS #holyshit #thisaccountisreal #internalscreaming  
**akatsuKEY** : 勝生 勇利!!! すばらしい!

_view more comments_

\--

 

 **me:** _Is this Viktor Nikiforov?_

 **VN** : _Yes_?

 **me** : _This is Yuuri Katsuki; Phichit said you wanted my number so…_

 **me** : _I’m a big fan – I’m sorry – I was a poor show at Sochi_

 **VN** : _YUURI!_

 **VN** : (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ  
  
**VN** : _Amazing! You were wonderful at JNC!! do not for one moment think on Sochi._

 **me** : _you were watching me??_

 **VN** : _of course!_

 

[Several minutes passed as Yuuri wrangled with disbelief.]

 

 **me** : _thank you_.

 **VN** : _haha do not think to thank me, i am making up for lost time._

 

[Yuuri made the most quizzical expression, disrupting his shock; it made Phichit snort with laughter. “You look like a puppy who heard the word ‘walkies.’” He got a pillow to his head for the trouble.]

 

 **VN** : _let me know where you get assigned next! Do you mind if I text you?_

 **me** : _not at all! Sorry if it takes me a while to respond, ill be traveling_

 **me** : _I’m not good with texting and stuff. I don’t really spend a lot of time on SNS_

 **VN** : _i noticed! you’re a bit of a spectre ;3_

 **VN** : _it’s alright! Hopefully we’ll meet soon_!

 **VN** : _dobroy nochi!_

 **VN** : _that means goodnight!_

 

[The debate raged strongly before Yuuri’s trembling fingers managed to type out the next few words.]

 

 **me** : _oyasumi_

 **me** : _also goodnight_. (´｡• ω •｡`)

 

 

Tossing his phone to the side, Yuuri buried his face in a pillow and groaned. What even was his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over the Japanese text for translations!
> 
> I also have a [writing tumblr](http://catamight.tumblr.com/) (and NOT an instagram, as evidenced by my inability to hashtag).


	5. In Which Yuuri Dresses to Impress and Also Ruins Someone’s Night Whoops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the lateness, this chapter WOULD NOT STOP. D:< I tried cutting stuff out even but damn, it was relentless. Oh well. It's a monster. Whoops. My hand slipped.
> 
> ...(sorry T u T;; )

Fifty dollars in American currency was nearly 5,520 yen. It was an expense not normally given to anything except his sports equipment, as Yuuri was a staunch believer in good, sturdy, second hand clothing and the wonder of dollar stores. But today, he was handing this small fortune to a tall man standing in front of a door in the cellar of a winery in downtown Detroit called _Erzhats_. For food, ostensibly; Yuuri tried not to consider what he did as ‘eating’ – more ‘recharging,’ because he could keep that word down a lot more easily.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” the man raised an eyebrow, and Yuuri tried not to look like he wanted to cringe into non-existence.

“I’ve been out of town,” he said, and since it was true his voice did not waver. “Is that enough?”

The man grunted. “You have any special requests? Those sometimes cost more.”

“No,” was all he answered with, as he pondered what kind of vampire would have special needs. Yuuri tried not to let it show on his face, but he was fairly certain subterfuge would forever be beyond him. He would just hire Phichit to lie for him from now on; or Mari. Mari always lied really well, and it actually frightened him a bit just how good she was at it.

“Then head on in. Pick anyone who doesn’t look too sleepy.”

It was different than Sapporo.

It was still elegant, in an eerie way. Everything was dark, including the upholstery, and there were fewer people inside. Whereas Sapporo’s room had been much larger, this den had a minimalist feel, and looked a lot more modern than it needed to be. Then again, Yuuri supposed it was, somewhat, like going to a restaurant; no one wanted the walls to be covered in grease, or cockroaches to set up shop under their feet. In that sense, he understood the décor a bit better.

There were other vampires inside, talking to one another, their cheeks and skin flush. Obviously, they had just eaten. Yuuri was beginning to note the importance of what that meant as far as fitting in was concerned; he was lucky he could blame hours of flight and the exhaustion generated by relief when he was coming back to Detroit. He kept his gaze aside, focusing more on the … selection they offered, and tried not to think about what he was doing.

Honestly, it wasn’t even the blood drinking that bothered him the most. He hadn’t enjoyed draining animals dry, but he had understood the necessity and was honestly a lot more comfortable scavenging alleyways than he was standing here, eyeing humans like livestock.

No, it wasn’t the blood drinking. He could get past that to survive, especially if he didn’t have to kill anyone.

“Hey there.”

A quiet voice interrupted his mile-a-minute thoughts, and temporarily he was grateful. Yuuri turned his gaze to the right, head tucked and expression uncertain. In the dark, he was fairly certain his eyes would always glow a gentle red. Phichit had mentioned it before, but Yuuri sometimes studied himself in the mirror, as if trying to relearn the body he thought he knew. Unless he was hungry; then the red of his gaze would burn so brightly in the dark he thought his face would melt.

Yuuri’s steady eye contact was not enough to be considered a greeting, so he managed a tiny smile. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

The quiet voice belonged to a young man, probably younger than Yuuri himself, but not by much. Dark tan skin courted hazel eyes, his hair done up in a side cut that required a lot more confidence than Yuuri was sure he had in his whole being. He seemed far more collected, less bored or antsy than the others. His heart beat was as steady as a drum. Yuuri’s small smile was returned with another that had a lot more enthusiasm. The corners of that grin were tinged with surprise. “That’s okay! You’re new here.” Not a question at all, really. “I’m Davi.”

“Yuuri,” was his hurried reply. “And ye-…yes. I’ve been away a while,” was all Yuuri could stand to say. “Nice to meet you.”

Akin to the purple-haired girl, the young man patted the space next to him. Unlike Sapporo, where there seemed no secluded area for anyone, each of the volunteers (Yuuri labeled them as such because the alternatives made him nauseous) had their own booth, with walls just high enough to provide some sense of privacy.

Yuuri obliged, though he moved sluggishly.

“Been a bit for you, huh?”

Casual conversation about a topic Yuuri felt he could barely approach in his head made his eye twitch. “Three and a half days,” he clarified, like he hadn’t been counting the minutes once they got off the plane, eyes roving over the crowds at the airport like he was at a buffet. Phichit had nudged him hard in the ribs, warning him that his face wasn’t exactly appropriate. “I was busy.”

“No kidding,” the man smiled again, this time with amusement. “Color me impressed.”

“Well, I’m not…I’m still getting used to this.” He didn’t like coming here, to these places that smelled too heavily of both blood and perfume. He had enough trouble going to a barber.

The man next to him seemed to like the sound of that, by the way his eyes lit up with mischief. He honed in on Yuuri, intruding on that feeble personal bubble. “Really?” Yuuri should have probably stopped him, but the curling, ravenous feeling in his stomach prevented reason from speaking up too loudly.

“Y-yes.” The stammer was hard to keep out of his voice. He didn’t move when a hand cradled his cheek, gentle and just a touch eager.

A raised eyebrow met Yuuri’s obvious reluctance. “You know this is a pretty safe place for us, right? Every now and then we get a jerk who thinks they can do whatever they want with us – but the big guy out front takes care of them pretty quick. We aren’t made of glass.”

There was something about that last bit that resonated with Yuuri. “I know, it’s not… I just don’t like doing this.” He spoke as quietly as he could, a bit of irritation tickling the edges of his words. “It’s really uncomfortable for me.”

Well, if the young man had been surprised before, now he looked flabbergasted. “…Now that’s a new one.”

“I mean it,” Yuuri called upon his courage to insist – at low volume. When he realized he’d sounded angrier than he’d meant to, his expression faltered into uncertainty. “It feels like a huge … I don’t know, a breach, or something.” English failed him at this point. He bit back the Japanese that rose to the forefront of his mind to replace what he was saying with something that made more sense.

Leaning back, the other man looked thoughtful. “Well, I definitely don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, but how the Kiss works isn’t exactly … not intimate, you know?” He at least smiled, chuckling through his disbelief. “You can use my wrist instead? Maybe that’ll make it less problematic for you?”

Considering how the mere suggestion made something in Yuuri’s chest cave in with relief, he considered it seriously. “Maybe?”

As always, there was hesitation. The oddness of fangs stretching out from his jaw, feeling his bones shift, was still alien, and Yuuri never managed to get quite comfortable afterward. Hunger, however, always prevailed in getting him into gear. He gripped the offered hand, and the arm attached, and bit down. The rush was immediate, heady; Yuuri already felt himself succumbing to that drunk sensation making his head spin. The roar in his ears helped drown out the noises Davi was making – and the groan of pleasure assuredly rumbling in his throat.

Yuuri wasn’t quite as complacent as he’d been in Sapporo. He was hungrier, which he was very certain contributed to him releasing the young man’s wrist and – with merely a searing glance to show his intentions – pulled him closer instead, his jaws clamping down against the neck he’d been so studiously avoiding before.

As hazy as everything seemed, Yuuri was certain he wasn’t being violent. Yet the aggression was so strong and sudden he honestly had no idea how to dampen it. It was only after both of them had finished, leaving his meal panting and stiff beneath him that sanity returned.

“…Ah…oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Yuuri’s eyes had widened so much they seemed twice their normal size. Frantic, he remembered to lick against the wounds he’d made. “I’m, I don’t know what … I’m uh – I’m not normally that …way. Are you okay? I – oh.”

The trembling he’d been feeling in the body beneath him gave way to giggling. “Hoo … I – I thought you said this bothered you,” the other boy grinned widely, flushed and mussed in a way that would have absolutely made Yuuri far more uncomfortable had he not been busy trying to handle his residual shock. “That was _fine_ , you know? You were just hungry – remember what I said?”

“…You’re not made of glass?” Yuuri muttered, peeved and no longer panicked. “I _am_ sorry though. That was still rude.”

Apparently this was funny, because Davi – though a bit out of it – put a hand to his face and tried to muffle his laughter. “Oh my god, you’re adorable.”

Well, he had enough blood in him to turn red now, because bad timing was his super power. “A...as long as you’re sure I wasn’t….”

“I wasn’t afraid.” There was an odd strength to this statement, but the stern tone faded fast. “I’ve had pretty shitty clients before, trust me, you were practically dainty.” Davi winked and rubbed his neck. “Mn. Don’t sell yourself short.”

And that expression nearly set Yuuri’s clothes on fire. “…I should go.” He looked askance, as if some higher being was _absolutely_ judging him for this. (There was no small part of him that was sure of that much.)

“Come back anytime,” Davi waggled his fingers and blew Yuuri a kiss.

Exit Yuuri Katsuki, stage left, pursued by an invisible bear (and all the embarrassment he could muster).

 

 

\--

 

 

‘Morning’ was interrupted by a gentle buzzing sound. The dorm room shades were drawn down to avoid him searing himself awake when the sun rose, so it was fairly dark still, regardless of the time. If he had been terrible with waking up before, now it was akin to digging him out of the earth, piece by piece. Blearily, he rummaged for his phone, feeling incredibly slow and perhaps he should just never wake up again.

Alas, if he did that then he would miss out on the biggest mystery known to man: Viktor Nikiforov Texting Yuuri Katsuki Because of Reasons.

 

 **VN:** _if you’re awake, I needed you to see this!!_

[attachment: a short video of Makkachin (because Yuuri would recognize that dog anywhere) dragging a blanket and stuffed penguin toward the camera – one can easily hear cooing noises in the background]

 **VN:** _she was too cold this morning and wouldn’t leave the blanket, even when we tried to go for a walk! adorable!_

 **VN:** _something told me you would appreciate many, many dog pictures_

 **VN:** _ah I just remembered there’s a seven hour time difference! my apologies! sleep well~_

[… _12 Unread Messages_ ]

 

The rest of the texts ended up being a mixture of photos of Makkachin and St. Petersburg. Since Yuuri had not been to that city before it was a pleasant sight – and Viktor’s sheer joy, unusual though it was, helped him not panic. Which was odd, but he was grateful for it.

Uncomprehending and slow, Yuuri finished reading and put the phone down on his nightstand, staring at it as if it had undergone some strange metamorphosis. Truth was, it wasn’t the phone: it was his life.

Dazed, he went to the bathroom. Splashing water on his face while trying to understand what his life had become was now as much of a ritual as brushing his teeth. When he returned (more collected than stunned, he swore) and read the rest, it took him several minutes to conjure a response.

 

 **me:** _Makkachin is very cute, as always!_

 **me** : _was that penguin the same one she had three years ago?_

 

Oh god what was wrong with him. _No normal person should know that_.

It was too late to take it back, so Yuuri hurriedly added a few more things that he hoped would distract Viktor, like shining a laser pointer at a cat.

 

 **me** : _i’m officially back in Detroit, though i think you guessed that_. _Phichit is dead to the world. I’m not sure how I’m even awake._

 

Before he had a chance to try and add more, he received a response.

 

 **VN** : _it is! a fan gave it to us at the rink_

 **VN** : _i hope I’m not bothering you at inconvenient times – i’m just very happy to talk to you_

 **me** : _no! no it’s fine – I’ll let you know my schedule, if that helps_

 **me** : _i’m surprised you’d want to talk to me_

[Damn his stupid, stupid yearning.]

 **me** : _i mean! i’m trying to get…used to you talking to me_

 **me** : _if that makes sense_

 **me** : _sorry_

 

Self-flagellation was a specialty of his. Yuuri could safely say he was possibly an expert at it, having always applied harsh thoughts across his back like those who practice the mortification of the flesh, spitting words like leather whiplashes as if he could purge himself of his weaknesses.

A name he’d heard once for himself was ‘the figure skater with the world's biggest glass heart.’ Even early on, the media coverage had been … not coddling, but there was a sense of delicacy. Soft hands, kid gloves; they tried to make sure even critiques were straight-forward, without scathing words, or at least with some kind of pitying encouragement that he was _just fine there was nothing to worry about_. That, or the critiques were even harsher because they thought it might be more interesting to break him; sometimes it would, for a while.

It infuriated him, in a way. The fact that anyone thought him too weak to perform on an international stage – who wasn’t _him_ – made life more difficult, not easier. He already had a hard enough time handling losing, letting anxiety pop up to wreck his state of mind. He knew – he _knew_ he could win, if it wasn’t for the high-wire act his mind and heart went through to make sure he didn’t succumb to nerves.

And it turned out he was right. He could win. Without the monster of doubt in his mind Yuuri really was a decent skater – hard working, and at least worthy of representing his country. Worthy of himself.

And apparently, worthy of Viktor Nikiforov’s attention, as evidenced by the texts he now received at any given time of day.

 

 **VN** : _i understand! Please don’t be sorry_

 **VN** : _i tend to forget the effect of my career on other people, esp other skaters_

 **VN** : _but don’t ever worry; i am just happy to talk to you – don’t feel pressure!_ ヽ(o♡o)/

 

There was a part of Yuuri that squealed at this; there was another part that froze and started to count the ways he could screw this up for himself. (It was becoming apparent that while his anxiety made this normal, pessimistic attitude worse (to heart-stopping), it was definitely something distinctly Yuuri and would have to be trained out of him if it was ever going stop.)

“It’s unnerving,” was what he said, though he didn’t sound nearly so. In fact, he more or less remained animated, brown eyes sparkling.

In his pajamas, as it was a day for late classes, Phichit looked over his shoulder to read the texts with an air of nonchalance that Yuuri envied. Deeply.

“It’s pretty effing adorable.” Phichit corrected him with a finger wag as they sat together for breakfast (now with only one of them trying to finish all the milk before it went bad). “I think that’s what you mean.”

What Yuuri didn’t want to admit was the fact that Viktor’s online presence, combined with the sheer weight of Phichit’s physical and emotional maneuverings, was making it hard to say no to (or outright avoid) things like caring about himself and thinking positively. His family’s response to his win in Sapporo was also so warm, like they had known this could happen for him; it made almost all of his trauma and self-deprecation worth it.

 _Yeah, how dare they_ , the voice in his head prodded, and Yuuri decided to take the hint.

It made it harder to admit that he still hadn’t told his family the truth.

 

 **me** : _I’ll do my best_ (´,,•ω•,,)

 

“Why are those emojis the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and why haven’t you used more when you’re texting me?” Phichit sounded hurt, and Yuuri knew it was affected, which was why he didn’t bother looking up to see for himself.

“Stop reading over my shoulder.”

“You’re the one not moving away!”

The resulting scuffle almost cost Phichit his breakfast.

 

 

\--

 

 

Parties were not something Yuuri gravitated toward. When he first arrived in Detroit, Yuuri survived many a house party (where he knew a grand total of no one (and later, Phichit)) by finding and befriending the dog. There was almost always a dog present, and they were reliably a good dog, so Yuuri felt like his tactics had thusly rewarded him.

Parties held for him? Even less so. (For a given value of ‘party’ in this case, he supposed – Phichit’s idea of a night in with snacks and absolutely no homework allowed was a good party).

It started with Kazuyuki’s missive.

The very formal letter had been left unopened until they returned to Detroit. He had hesitated opening it while still in Japan as Yuuri couldn’t quite get the other vampire’s words out of his head. In regards to quitting his profession – his first love – cold-turkey; Kazuyuki hadn’t taken it back or restated himself on the matter. Yuuri had to assume what he had insinuated was his most honest opinion. It was still rattling around in his head, the idea of having to leave his life’s pursuit. Nothing Phichit, Celestino, or anyone else had quite reassured him that he was doing the right thing by staying in the game with some very … distinct advantages.

The only thing that kept him going was his desperate yearning to succeed. To finish this season, to finish his last year in university; then, and only then, would he truly confront what to do next.

When he finally mustered the courage, Yuuri had blinked twice at the beautiful calligraphy before sitting down to absorb the information.

 

_Katsuki Yuuri;_

_In the centuries I have been of the Kindred, I have never stumbled across someone so entirely unfit to the life our kind leads. This is a compliment in its own way, I assure you. I hope you care to remember it in darker, more difficult times ahead._

_I have sponsored you in the literal and social sense. There is a local Toreador Prince named Caro Epistle who resides in Chicago, and he has agreed to meet you at a formal gathering (location and time enclosed). Act grateful when you meet him, and be graceful about it; this is not a man, but an impression of one, and he has had centuries to perfect himself. Be obliged to the court which receives you – and be as much as yourself as you can; this will usually protect you from immediate snobbery. Or worse._

_I won’t lie to you: it will be difficult. The Toreador Clan have been labeled dandies and ‘kine-lovers’ and are considered too whimsical to be taken seriously. There is a darker side to their careless behavior, but then, every Clan has a weakness. You will learn this, if they decide to take you under their wing. If not, we will have to discuss other plans. But I will remind you: they are not allowed to harm you, and will refrain from doing so as long as I am considered your patron. I have not enclosed an address for them, as they will come gather you themselves. Do not be surprised if they insist on blindfolding you or some such thing; they do not know you after all._

_There are similar places to the herd in Sapporo located in Detroit. I have enclosed a list, along with each location’s fees and entrance requirements. Some do not allow specific Clan members to enter, for reasons which will become clear later, I assure you._

_As well, there should be enclosed the name and address of a tailor. Go there and make sure to let them know I would like something made for you – they will take care of the rest. Bring your friend. I might iterate here that you are not to bring them with you to the Clan gathering. That would be akin to parading livestock in front of a pack of wolves._

_Do not hesitate to contact me if you have any other questions, and be careful._

 

Kazuyuki had signed his name at the bottom, the kanji beautiful and obviously born from years of practice.  Yuuri’s own handwriting was consistently terrible, and had only gotten worse once keyboards were introduced into society. No one wrote like this anymore.

Phichit had asked that it be translated. He really was building a formidable collection of notes, having Yuuri read over them before collaborating on potential questions. There was a long list by this point, and some of them were distinctly personal and Yuuri was fairly certain he would rather die than ask anyone any of those. But he knew he had to, at some point. Just not now.

 

 

 

The tailor’s address was barely within the city limits of Detroit, much like Wayne State University in that way. Northville was an affluent neighborhood by comparison to many others, and it surprised Yuuri not at all that he would find a personal tailor here, amidst mansions and manicured lawns and people wearing Gucci sunglasses outdoors like they could risk losing them.

“I’m glad he realized I have a sense of taste.”

“You’re just excited about bespoke anything.” Yuuri’s counter was mostly incredulous. While Phichit’s grin made Yuuri worried about what he’d be forced to consider in-store, it was Kazuyuki that made him incredibly overwhelmed. The man had really gone out of his way to make sure he would have a chance in this new un-life. Relief had spread through him like a warm bath when he realized Kazuyuki hadn’t mentioned anything about quitting competitive skating. It wasn’t on the table for discussion now, and Yuuri hoped it would stay that way.

“I won’t lie. I’ve never set foot in a real tailor’s shop.” Phichit’s eyes lit from unabashed glee. “I want to see what it’s like.” The genuine enthusiasm hampered Yuuri’s grumpy mood, ever so slightly.

“Do you remember how our first real conversation went?”

They had stopped in front of the tailor’s entrance. The store front was carved from wood, lovingly lacquered and pleasing to the eye. It spoke of old timey eloquence and Kingsman-like respectability.

“You told me you weren’t going to stand for instant ramen being eaten improperly, and you apologized in advance for having trouble waking up in the morning?”

“That was Polite Me trying to be a good roommate. No, I mean when I finally actually said something to you that wasn’t just apologizing or fleeing from you awkwardly.” Yuuri sounded abashed, if not a tiny bit amused.

Phichit ‘ohh’ed. “Ah yeah… you were pouring a can of Red Bull into your coffee at seven in the morning. You said ‘this is how I die.’”

Yuuri sighed. Phichit had also snorted at him and took a picture that he absolutely didn’t upload later, because Yuuri almost brained him with his own phone to prevent the horror that was his bedhead from circulating the internet. His smile was wistful as he gazed up at the store, recalling the moment their friendship was truly born. “I was wrong. _This_ ,” he gestured at the might-as-well-be-baroque storefront, for how grand it felt to him. “This is how I’m going to die.”

“I thought you were already, technically, dead?”

They’d had this conversation in a far more serious context the night before they’d left for Sapporo. Yuuri had been tense and discomfited by the idea that he could hear everyone else’s heartbeat but his own (something he’d noticed awhile before then, but never had the courage to say aloud), and they’d finally realized together that he didn’t have one and that he was – if he closed his eyes and lay _really_ still – essentially dead. Phichit had given him a very worried look after that, as he he’d wanted to say something – but Yuuri had cut him off to change the subject.

“Technically correct.” He would have glared, but trepidation killed the heat from his words and he slumped instead. “Just push me inside. I don’t think I have the authority to drag my feet over the threshold.”

That had been another fun test, just to see if some myths were true. Turned out that no, he didn’t need permission to enter any domain and he could obviously cross running water (the ocean, please). And garlic did nothing but make him gag it up if he ate it, just like everything else.

Needless to say, Phichit’s face at this point was Not Having It. “Get yourself lux’d up, Yuuri.” His rink mate tried to kick at Yuuri’s shin, and the inevitable evasive action it incurred made the Japanese skater tumble inside.

As it turned out, the place was far nicer inside than it was on the outside. How this was possible, Yuuri didn’t know.

“Welcome,” the surprisingly young man appeared, standing from his place behind the counter. He looked eastern European, but spoke with a clear American accent. “How may I assist you?”

With Phichit’s gaze distracted by fabric samples, Yuuri felt a little less like he was auditioning for a role. “Hello,” he tried not to trip over himself, or his words. “I think I have a reservation? But I’m really not sure how this works.”

“What’s the name?”

Yuuri shuffled closer, still uncertain. “Um. Katsuki? Or Kazuyuki?”

“Ah yes,” the young man’s posture shifted, eyes widening a fraction. He sent Yuuri a smile, a touch more genuine than the first. “Please follow me. We need measurements before anything else.”

“He’s going to a fancy party!” Phichit sung the words like he was cherishing the mere thought of it. Yuuri whirled on him to try and shush him, but the man behind the counter chuckled.

“I would hope so,” he said, coming around to greet them in person. “I doubt this Kazuyuki-san would splurge for a trip out for fast food.”

No, Kazuyuki wouldn’t, Yuuri was fairly sure. “I really don’t know what you need from me on this…I’m not really picky.” Without thinking, he followed the tailor into the back room, which was far more expansive than the storefront would indicate. There were fabrics of all kinds, patterns he’d never seen before, and mirrors everywhere.

He should have said he was picky.

Admittedly, when he was told to stand on the little podium in the middle of the room, Yuuri flashed back to various fittings he’d done for his costumes as he unbundled himself from several layers of clothing (walking at dusk was safer, but he never took chances). It had never been this grand, nor had he ever seen the tools and materials of the trade while he got his measurements done. It was a new experience.

It was also a new experience to have to face himself in a mirror, torn between glaring and fretting as the tailor (who had introduced himself as Anton) moved around him, flipping tape measures and pins all over his person.

Yuuri’s reflection stared back at himself, unimpressed. For heaven’s sake, he was a professional athlete. He had worked diligently to earn what muscle he had; being forced in front of full length mirrors shouldn’t bother him this much.

And yet.

There was something gentle about his features that kept him from svelte masculinity. A certain curviness when it came to his body; abdomen destined to never be quite flat, hips always broader than he thought. His cheeks had a permanent softness to them that always made people assume he was still a teenager.

And well, his butt wasn’t exactly flat; Phichit was the one who commented that it was the opposite of flat, early on in their friendship – which was not something anyone had ever told him so bluntly (nor in such a manner as to be considered reassuring) and…well.

That last observation made him distinctly uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to looking at himself in a mirror beyond fixing his hair, counting the bags under his eyes or adjusting his outfit. There was an understanding between Yuuri and his body: that they wouldn’t think about each other much. His personal estimation was that he was fairly average in appearance, and that was that.

Yuuri bit his lip. He couldn’t help but disparage his looks in his head – he couldn’t afford a possible ego boost (or more often, ego sink) when he could get them from the things he’s worked to earn praise for. Gaining weight at the drop of a hat certainly didn’t help the uncertainty ebb. So he kept the blinders on, and hoped that he was passable as a human. It was the best he could hope for. Especially now that he wasn’t one anymore.

“What about this pattern going along upward from the sleeves, with gold trim on the shoulders? It’s a bit more than you requested, but my instructions did say you were attending a formal event and needed to stand out….”

He hesitated, the faint flush of his cheeks betraying him. “Y…yeah I guess – I mean. I think so. I’ll need to try on the final product to know. I’m bad at imagining how it’ll look.”

“That’s quite fair. And how about two thin gold chains draping along the back?”

“I don’t think —”

“YES.” And that was Phichit, barreling into the room from wherever he’d been hiding, nearly causing Yuuri to abandon the podium he was standing on by latching onto the ceiling like a startled cat. “Please!” Phichit decided to add, as if it made his interruption any more polite.

“I _really_ don’t think it’s necessary.” Yuuri did not squeak, hatefully aware of his voice’s betrayal.

“It would look very dashing.” Anton wore a smile that made Yuuri want to squirm away from the scrutiny.

Since escape was what he wanted most, Yuuri decided to acquiesce to any idea that seemed within reason. (“Phichit I am not wearing a silk cravat.” “Anne Rice would be so disappointed in you.”) In the end, he merely chose what he could stand to see himself wearing. Nothing reminded him of how much of a turnip he really was by playing fancy dress up; if he could maintain eye contact with his reflection for five minutes straight, he considered it a win.

“Take this with you,” Anton insisted, after they’d hashed out the important details. The other man held out a sash the color of a red rose. “It’ll be a nice addition to the suit, I promise.”

Exhausted from literal self-reflection, Yuuri didn’t even argue, merely thanking the man for being patient with Yuuri’s indecision and Phichit’s aggressive questioning. In the end all he could do was hope he wouldn’t look ridiculous.

 

 

\--

 

 

 **me** : _Viktor?_

 **VN** : _hello Yuuri! what is it?_

 

It was the first time he’d bothered reaching out before Viktor got the jump on him; Yuuri felt an odd sense of freedom in doing so, as if a small wall had been broken down somewhere. While, yes, he was absolutely mortified at the very thought of saying something insensitive or rude to Viktor Nikiforov through text (he’d been told he could be chilly sometimes, though he never meant to be, really), it couldn’t overwhelm the fluttery joy it gave him to do so anyway. They had exchanged various photos and moments over the last few days. Viktor’s face was now all over his message history (sometimes sans Makkachin, though not too often), along with various pictures of the rink he practiced at and other skaters who happened to move into the frame.

If there was a reason for Yuri Plisetsky looking angry in almost in every shot, Yuuri wasn’t going to assume it was _Viktor’s_ fault. But if pressed, he would wager a healthy amount of money on it.

 

 **me** : _this is just me asking, from one professional to another_

 **me** : _would it be too much for me if I changed my free skate and my short program?_

 **me** : _I don’t really like them_

 

And that was harsher than he’d meant to be; it also wasn’t true, in a sense. They were well-crafted programs, but he had to work too hard to pull emotion into his skating. As well, he felt they didn’t push him enough (which was still something he felt ashamed to even consider; like he was overstepping his boundaries). The revelation at JNC, that he had been slowly losing his love for skating to fear and disappointment, had come just a bit too late, but better late than not at all.

 

 **me** : _er, I mean I can’t feel them as well as I used to, maybe_

 **me** : _and i have the time to work on new routines, I think – before 4C – if i start now_

 

Truth be told, he’d been thinking of it since those first few practices after he’d gotten back from Sochi. Would have absolutely changed it had he more than a few measly weeks. Would have absolutely changed it had he not been dealing with the whole newborn vampire business.

‘Woulda, shoulda, coulda,’ as Phichit loved to slur in a terrible Texan accent.

He wondered, as he always did in those terrifying moments before he heard back from Viktor, if he had broadened the scope of their budding … thing too far. Unlike Phichit, who pushed boundaries so much there was now permanent room for his presence, Yuuri didn’t know Viktor all that well yet – there wasn’t any way to know for sure.

As a note: he played this game of nail-biting second guessing with every new relationship, Phichit included. It’s probably one of the reasons he didn’t have many friends. Fortunately for Yuuri, Viktor responded with the same speed and enthusiasm he always did.

 

 **VN** : _we all learn the things we love faster than the ones we merely tolerate_

 **VN** : _you’re talented enough and hard-working; I’m sure you’ll be able to do it!_

 

The fanboy inside of Yuuri was trying not to fall over from happiness; there had been moments of his life wherein he’d guiltily imagine Viktor telling him the same thing to cheer him up from whatever dark place he’d gone, and it would make him feel better, like a security blanket.

The side of him that yearned to skate on the same ice as Viktor cheered for the first time in years.

The tiny corner of his heart that didn’t just want to be considered an equal, but better, gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. (Trying to deny this part of him existed was pointless; it burgeoned in his chest stronger than ever as of late.)

The rest of Yuuri stared at his phone in disbelief – as well as no small amount of liberation.

 

 **me** : _you really think so?_

 **VN** : _i know so! i’m excited to see what you come up with_

 **me** : _…not just saying ‘go for it’ so i’ll have half-formed routines for 4C and embarrass myself on the ice?_

 

– oh god he was trying to be funny (this is why he tried not to be funny (except when he failed and let slip with self-deprecation everyone thought he affected)), what was wrong with him –

 

 **VN** : _you wound me terribly Yuuri_ (ノД`)・゜・。  
  
**VN** : _i would never_

 **VN** : _how dare_  
  
**VN** : [sent: a familiar meme Yuuri was sure he’d seen before, from some video game, of a man lowering himself to lie face down on the sidewalk and slowly disappearing into it. Some part of Yuuri was honestly surprised it wasn’t actually just a picture of Viktor Nikiforov lying down on the floor somewhere.]

 **VN** : _I’ll never recover from this_

 **VN** : _so cruel_

 

Standing as he was, he had to lean on the guardrail of the rink to keep himself from falling over as he snorted at this unexpectedly normal response. Realizing he hadn’t even told Phichit these ideas (and definitely not Celestino), Yuuri winced in guilt. He still wasn’t entirely sure why he reached out to Viktor before anyone else, yet he wasn’t regretting the decision.

He hurried himself along to do that before he lost any more time, but not before responding.

 

 **me** : _thank you viktor._ _it means a lot coming from you_

 

Yuuri’s face was impossibly pink (his trademark bright red was no longer quite possible these days), and with his phone in his pocket he missed the long _VN is typing_ stasis on his screen before it finally managed to crop up a response several minutes later.

 

 **VN** : _anything for you yuuri~_ <3

 

(By the time Yuuri finally looked at his phone again, it was only because Phichit wanted to see Viktor’s encouraging words for himself. If he wasn’t already sure his heart wasn’t working, Yuuri would have sworn it would have stopped.

Phichit looked like the cat that had caught the canary.

He would never hear the end of this.

(He wasn’t sure he wanted to.))

 

 

\--

 

 

There was a car waiting for him on the evening in question. He carried Kazuyuki’s letter, folded tightly into a pocket, in preparation for any confrontation he couldn’t talk or run his way out from.

His mind was on other things. Phichit had convinced him into an early visit to Erzhats Winery (not for wine, obviously), as it had been a … an experience he could … tolerate. Familiarity, at least, bred some level of understanding, if not comfort. Not waiting three days certainly gave him a better complexion; it also made him less sluggish. Certainly less likely to lose control. Phichit had argued that, in an unknown situation, it was best to be at the top of his game, in every sense – as much as he could.

Yuuri agreed, with supreme reluctance. His ‘victims’ all waved him goodbye every time he went, making sure he earned the stink eye of other guests like himself; there was that at least.

The suit had been completed in record time. It had only been a week since he’d gotten back from Japan, and the party was on the upcoming Friday. The black silk had felt like heaven; the subtle gold patterns on his sleeve cuffs, the thrice-damned chains lay thin and light against his back – all of it was enormously comfortable and against his better judgment, Yuuri thought he looked alright. He wore the dark red sash around his waist – and this was a good a reason as any to avoid any tie at all. He wondered if Anton had some kind of sixth sense.

Or he’d spoken to Phichit out of earshot. That too was likely.

Technically it was early morning for vampires, but frankly Yuuri didn’t really understand how sleeping or waking worked anymore. He didn’t suffer from exhaustion unless he was low on blood, but it was hard to know when things were supposed to happen now. Yuuri’s phone had about twenty different alarms on it now, which was a lot even for him (and he had thought seven was overkill).

“Just remember to be careful and listen to everything. I’m not there to take notes, so you gotta pay attention.”

Yuuri was adjusting his sash and avoiding eye contact. “Yes Phichit.”

“And if you feel uncomfortable, you can always just leave no matter what Kazuyuki might think, you know that right?”

“…Yes Phichit.”

It wasn’t normally something he allowed, but Phichit often was the exemption to the rule, in addition to his friends and family back home. A hand found its way to his shoulder, and he was tugged into a sideways hug. “I’m more freaked out than you are – I’m still not getting over that.”

Yuuri wasn’t either. He still had no idea if the trade-off for losing his anxiety was all that great. In a weird, broken way, he wished he could trade it back. He wasn’t going to say anything about that though; it felt ungracious, to think such things.

“It’ll be alright. But I’ll be careful, I promise.”

 

 

 

In retrospect, Yuuri wondered if he could just vanish into the Amazon rainforest and never return. It would be hot, true, but humidity had never bothered him (besides making the ends of his hair curl, for some reason) and he could get used to the giant bugs, deadly poisons, and jaguars. Those things couldn’t hurt him too badly, right?

 _It’s about as safe as this plan_ , Yuuri thought, the whites of his eyes no doubt wide on his face as he gazed upon what he hoped wasn’t his final destination. Stereotypically, he had expected some kind of old mansion with stained glass and a lake or a big garden, all dark gothic or Victorian – but this wasn’t anything like that. It was far out of the way; apparently, the Prince didn’t live within city limits. The ride itself was just under an hour. Big windows and modern stylings made the home far more welcoming than he expected. It was a one-level complex, spreading out impressively across open acres of flat land. Yuuri realized he didn’t have to imagine a much more impressive underground portion; it’s what he would do, had he any wealth to speak of and acres of land to use for building a vampire lair that didn’t frighten the locals.

The driver was a woman, her dark skin and eyes unmoved by the panic Yuuri was certain he wore as clear as day. She assured him that she would check in with him after an hour to make sure he didn’t need an earlier ride, which belied her generally unimpressed expression.

“I was told to keep tabs on you,” was what she said, though her nearly black eyes flickered with some measure amusement. “My employer thinks you could get into trouble.” She clearly thought this was impossible.

“Right,” Yuuri said, so far out of his depth he might as well have taken a dive into the Marianas Trench. “Trouble.” He straightened the outer jacket, and looked at her askance. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy the party.”

It was empty of any bodyguards, as far as he could see – which meant nothing, really. Yuuri might not have been blessed with a deep love of fantasy, but he was capable of extrapolation: if vampires existed, what else could lurk in the corners of the world? And not even that – he had no idea what (…eugh, he hated using the phrase) _his_ kind were capable of, in total. Per Kazuyuki, all manner of different abilities were possible.

In short, he kept himself light on his toes and tried to follow the main path, hands fidgeting in his pockets.

At the last moment before he could dare to knock, the doors opened. A lone woman entered his line of sight, familiar red eyes locked onto his own. Dark hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, draping her like a cloak. “Welcome.” The word wove through the air pleasantly. She sounded like a singer. “The festivities are downstairs. Anything I can take for you?”

Yuuri, not quite trusting himself to speak, merely shook his head.

“Very well,” and she seemed to smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Please enjoy your stay.”

He could move faster, but he didn’t want to seem rude. Instead, he tried a little bow out of habit (something he’d tried to kick for as long as he was on American soil) and merely half-fled to the stairs she had indicated.

There was something about his whole thing that felt permanent. It was cementing him into a life he hadn’t chosen, and while it was for his own safety, perhaps, it was not at all comforting. A vampire’s desires were alien to Yuuri, even now, even with a thirst he could never quite quench. Yearning for the ice remained, human dreams were not yet gone – was he the only one like that? Kazuyuki seemed to understand, but the man was unfamiliar and Yuuri had no idea how much of his understanding was affected.

Or perhaps he was just too new.

Before he formally stepped foot into the dim lighting and plush lounge chairs, Yuuri took a moment to collect his thoughts. He was here to make a good impression. Straightening his back, he tried to prepare mentally like he did before any competition, his face settling from fretful to calm (and it only took a minute or two).

Blood-red eyes turned to him, his presence a magnet for inquisitive stares. Soft chatter dulled. There were men and women (and some ambiguous but beautiful genders Yuuri could not name) of all manner of dress, gathered in odd stylistic cliques. A few were distinctly Victorian, others more modern – some punk and others very obviously haute couture. Nothing was unfashionable, no matter how odd. It felt like a high school from an American movie. Yuuri tried not to consider how hungry some of these gazes felt, crawling up the back of his neck like a warning.

 _Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out_ –

“Katsuki, Yuuri, I presume?”

Still trying to get his throat to work right, Yuuri attempted not to spin his head off his shoulders to face whomever spoke and nodded the moment he caught sight of a knife-like smile. _I need not be mute, but I wish I could be_. “Yes.” Simple affirmative; Yuuri could defend that.

The man before him was tan-skinned, with expressive red eyes that shone like LED bulbs. Dirty blonde hair was styled favorably atop his head, and confidence oozed out of every pore. He was dressed a little more casually than Yuuri, but gut instinct told him the outfit wasn’t any less expensive. Possibly more so.

“My name is Van. These,” he spread out his arms to the rest of the now very attentive crowd. “Are Clan Toreador’s most prestigious members. They thought to see you for themselves. We have not had a … Caitiff among us for many, many years.” There was an unrecognizable accent drifting in and out of his vowels, but Yuuri couldn’t place it. Van ultimately seemed familiar, but Yuuri wasn’t sure why.

A flicker of worry on the new vampire’s face was all it took for Van to smile even more broadly in return. “Don’t be afraid. We have no interest in biting _you_.” There was a smattering of laughter, and it seemed to ease the tension in the room.

Yuuri struggled, and the façade of chilly serenity cracked as he searched for a sentence that wouldn’t doom him. “Thank you for having me.” It came out smoother than he’d thought it would, but the earnest hope of ‘please don’t kill me’ eked out into his eyes regardless.

Van must have noticed, but he said nothing to point it out. There was, however a turning in of his broad shoulder, moving more in line with Yuuri so that he could close out other prying eyes. “I have seen your performances.” Such words were murmured, and fond. “I found them enchanting, even when you were human. A Toreador knows art when we see it.”

Yuuri knew his face wasn’t totally heating up, but flustered and wide-eyed he still became. “Ah?”

“Kazuyuki may be Ventrue, but at least he has taste.” The taller man carried a smug grin on his lips. “Come! I have many Kindred you must meet,” he said far more loudly.

Many new faces, many new names. Yuuri was fairly certain this was exactly like the meet-and-greets Celestino prodded him into, and the banquets after international competitions. It didn’t relax him in the slightest, but at least he knew how to make the right faces now. Honestly – there wasn’t much difference. Every single one of the vampires he was introduced to offered him hearth and home, company and aid; no one left without making sure he knew how much they would love to ease his transition into the Clan, and into the lifestyle of the Kindred.

There was something about this generosity that Yuuri at once appreciated and absolutely did not trust.

He thanked every single offer with a smile that was real, even if it was wary. It was the same caution he’d bring to any sponsor who offered him the world without a contract. There were a lot of these folks; their red eyes shimmering with anticipation and excitement. Apparently there was something about his face that made everyone think they were winning him over.

Yuuri was very far from won.

“Our Prince Caro should be ready to see you in a moment.” Van eventually returned to his side after he was done collecting the entire room to examine Yuuri like a prize hog. “I’m not sure if you know what that title means.”

“Not really, no.” With every show of gentle ignorance, Yuuri was met with adoring gazes, some genuine, some simpering. Van, on the other hand, always seemed amused whenever Yuuri expressed confusion at standard vampiric customs.

“Princes are more or less governors these days. In smaller towns they are considered mayors, I imagine. They hold swathes of territory across the world. If you are living on their land, there is no real tithe to pay. We aren’t feudal.” He paused. “Well, not anymore.” There was a smirk. “But you still adhere to their rules. Caro is old-fashioned by even my standards, but in all the best ways.”

There was no way to know if that meant anything good, by Yuuri’s standards. “Oh. I imagine keeping ‘prince’ as a title is a bit more…” Yuuri licked his lips as he tried to look for the right word. This wasn’t any easier in Japanese, but English made it much harder. “Evocative? Than mayor, anyway.”

Van stared before he started, and tried his best to hold back a snort of what had to be laughter. “Oh! My word – well, of course.” And finally, the grin turned bright and all that more familiar. “You do cut to the quick, my new friend. Be careful not to mention that particular thought to Caro.”

Whatever level of comfort Yuuri held now, he wasn’t going to be dumb. “Y-yeah.”

When the familiar lady he met at the front door came to retrieve him, Yuuri broke down and sent Van a somewhat desperate look – as if to say ‘alone, really?’

Van’s rejoining expression was, in summation: ‘always.’

Yuuri went silently, and he swore the room he left behind was as muted as his mind.

 

 

 

A private study underground was an odd thing to see. It was, in essence, more of a smoke room, with shelves of books Yuuri was certain no one had touched for years. It wasn’t dusty, but everything looked too perfect, to in order for someone to have made themselves at home. It wasn’t like his father’s kitchen, nor his mother’s office, where small things had found themselves strewn about in polite disarray. Here, every placement of statuary or portraits – even lighting – was on display like an Ikea catalogue.

At first, Yuuri didn’t look directly ahead, unsure after taking a few steps inside the room whether he should announce himself. But he needn’t have worried.

“Have a seat,” said the man who seemed to peel forth from the shadows. Yuuri hadn’t even noticed anyone was even in here, and couldn’t stop the small jitter of surprise. “My apologies, I was in another meeting.”

Feeling habit kick in, Yuuri bowed at the waist, not helping himself by how he was trembling. As he’d been finding it so much safer to keep his mouth shut, he decided instead to let his eyes rest on his host when he unbent himself.

If this was Caro Epistle, he was far more real than anyone else at the party thus far. Dark skinned like burnt umber, and black, tightly curled hair neatly cropped against the curve of his head, with eyes that looked more like a home hearth than the burning pits of hell Yuuri had been getting used to. He was also ridiculously tall. “Thank you for having me,” Yuuri murmured, his true nature finally making an appearance. He wasn’t sure how he’d held himself so composed thus far; it was astonishing he hadn’t cracked earlier.

Caro steepled his fingers together after settling into a leather chair that creaked comfortably. “Now that is politeness I rarely encounter these days. But please, I insist. **Sit**.”

There was a strange stiffening of his bones. Yuuri couldn’t help himself but to sit across from the man, eyes widening at his own compliance.

… _What_ …?

“Mr. Katsuki, were I the Prince of any other Clan, I would no doubt spend several wasted minutes telling you how dangerous it is to flaunt yourself so publicly.” Caro’s presence was more intimidating than anything Yuuri had ever felt before; not even in front of an audience at his worst could compare to this small, shriveling sensation his soul was experiencing. “But I am not so boorish. Or boring, I suppose. Kazuyuki is an old friend – a rarity in our circles. He spoke well of you.”

Yuuri wanted so badly to be less of a statue, but honestly he was terrified. “Th..thank you?” His jaw felt splintered in the effort to get the words out from under him.

Caro continued, mirth evident on his face. “Don’t look so frightened. Despite our natures we aren’t barbarous. The Toreador Clan appreciates beauty in all its many forms. Art, music, dance…it isn’t unusual that we’ve taken in people who adore the public eye, or at the very least have to deal with the press every so often. Your situation, as it stands, is perfectly fine by us.”

He was sure his face was as easy to read as a picture book, but Yuuri had to respond. “I’m…I’m glad. I’m mostly confused, but I – I appreciate your,” while he didn’t hesitate, his brain wondered if it was the right word to use, “kindness. Skating is my passion; I didn’t want to quit.”

Something smoldered under his skin to admit it aloud. It was truer than it ever had been, that was for certain.

“Your performance in Sapporo was very impressive.” Before Yuuri could add anything, Caro waved a hand. “I mean how you captivated your audience. I could feel it, even through a screen, and I must say I have never seen a childe manage such Presence. You are very talented, and I will not lie: it is why I volunteered to take you under my wing.”

“I’m…that’s part of why I’m confused,” Yuuri muttered, daring to reveal scraps of irritation. “I have no idea how that works.”

After a long pause, his host seemed to come to a decision. “I will find you a teacher.” Caro’s eyes darkened in a contemplative fashion. “I will keep you safe in my territory, and you will have access to our libraries and personal herds.”

Somehow, all of these promises felt like the ones he’d been offered by all the other vampires. Effusive in aid, and yet.

“How do I pay you back?”

Yuuri could have bitten his tongue. He dropped his gaze, the confidence in his words disappearing as his shoulders slumped and his hand covered his mouth. _That was blunt and rude and what the nine hells are you even thinking_ –

Self-criticism was interrupted by a chuckle. Caro’s eyes had squinted, crinkling at the corners as his mouth worked its way into a real smile. “That is a very smart question. And I appreciate candor.” The dark man straightened and leaned forward, fingers interlacing each other in his lap. “I only require your loyalty. Help us keep our land safe from hunters and other creatures, protect our herds, you know,” Caro smirked. “Be a knight, of sorts.”

Yuuri stared, openly overwhelmed. “…Don’t tell me I have to patrol Detroit,” was the only thing he could think of saying, his flat tone saved by the fact that he looked otherwise relieved.

Apparently, Caro didn’t take offense. He actually laughed. “Oh no, no. Nothing like that. It’s more of that – oh, what is it those posters say: ‘if you see something, say something?’ In this case, you’d be doing, more than saying – but both are acceptable.”

English and Japanese seemed to fail Yuuri for a moment. The silence weighed heavily on his shoulders, and while he knew he shouldn’t ask, his mouth seemed to insist regardless. “What if I didn’t want to join a clan? Any clan?”

It was a testament to Caro’s confidence that there was no bluster or venom in his words when he replied. “I imagine you’d find it quite difficult to secure a safe, replenishing food source. Old envy runs deep; I would not need my status to convince others to turn their back on a Caitiff. Rather, I would need it to keep them from doing so. I hope you understand.”

Yuuri wanted to ponder what Caro meant by ‘old envy’, but now was not the time. Instead, he found himself shaking his head. After all, the response was exactly what he expected. He sighed without the despair he expected to feel. “I think the benefits outweigh the consequences.”

“A wise choice,” the prince smiled down, knowing yet without condescension. His stare was penetrating, and something very intuitive stirred within Yuuri, telling him not to meet Caro’s scrutiny.

But Caro wasn’t the sort to let things slide. “Look at me Yuuri,” he whispered, his deep voice like a glacier – inexorable and cold. “ **Look at me.** ”

Yuuri felt his muscles burn as his head lifted without his consent, gaze connecting at last.

If someone asked him, much later, to explain what happened next, Yuuri would be at a loss. There was a temporary dizziness, like he’d been thrown into space, his soul ripped from his body as the rest of him sat heavy as a stone. In the span of either hours or seconds he was laid bare, his essence spread out over galaxies.

And then he snapped to with a painful slam, his back abruptly against a wall and his throat being gripped so tightly Yuuri forgot he didn’t need to breathe. His voice choked out a noise of surprise and pain.

Caro was transformed, his warm red eyes now fierce and blazing like the sun. Yuuri couldn’t budge from where he was held, just a bit off the ground as his legs dangled. Trapped, he struggled, his hands immediately attempting to pry Caro’s fingers from his throat. It did absolutely nothing to disengage the other man’s grip.

“What have you done?” The fury in his voice was so potent it made Yuuri’s insides freeze. “ _What have you done?_ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brain is insisting there’s a blood den online support group and rumors of a precious cinnamon roll vampire start making the rounds. #Don’tMakeItAwkward is a legitimate trend. Anyway here’s a monster of a chapter that had no good start and a very terrible ending. Consider it a sacrificial offering to get Viktor into the picture faster than the snail’s pace I’ve been moving at. (It’s what I’m doing.)  
> And now that this is done, I should really …work on …the other WIP fics… ; w ; (((send help guys. Guys? Guys send help. Pls)))

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the middle of writing another chapter when this sudden inspiration struck and I ended up writing this instead of living my life, or doing chores, or you know, anything else.
> 
> Lord help me.


End file.
